


Sugar, Incise, Quarantine

by milksalt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anti-Social Personality Disorder in non-sexy ways, Deconstruction, Falconry, Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Morbid, Multi, Psychological, Symbolism, Yandere, You Have Been Warned, accidentally literary, but is it a metaphor or is it reality?, friendship drama, gonna prove you don't need archive warnings to be edgy, le sexy dark oikawa DOES NOT EXIST HERE unless you like jerks, subplot hell, team drama, volleyball as exposition, volleyball is love volleyball is life, when did this get so Japanese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 120,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksalt/pseuds/milksalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People enter Oikawa's life and people leave. </p><p>Volleyball enters Oikawa's life and volleyball leaves. </p><p>Oikawa graduates after losing to Karasuno High. </p><p> </p><p><em>"Let's play volleyball together, Grand King."</em> </p><p>Hinata Shōyō finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome (バクバク)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♣ Welcome (SFX: rapid eating/heart-beating)

The front doors chime open, and a familiar chorus sounds:

"Welcome!"

An unfamiliar addition follows:

"Good morning, Hinata-kun!"

The last voice is one Tōru has not heard since their last match nine months ago:

"Morning, Sasegawa-san!"

By the time Tōru turns around, there's nothing left of Hinata Shōyō except a blur of orange flitting determinedly between two aisles of the sports store he works in.

... And then Hinata appears so suddenly on the other side of his counter it's like he'd dropped down from thin air.

A packet of sports tape is put before him.

"Just this, please!" says Hinata. Tōru knows the exact moment that Hinata realises it's him at the register, because he blinks and then his eyes become so large they could block volleyballs. "Eh? Grand King? What are you doing here?"

Tōru's hands move on their own accord, letting him chat freely.

"Hello, Chibi-chan," he says. "I work here." The item is rung up, and Tōru glances at the screen even though he knows the price already. Hinata'd been drawing himself taller and taller with every syllable that came out of Tōru's mouth, a small bird fluffing themselves to be bigger and bigger, and - were those _sparkles?_

If Tōru were still in high school, he probably would have sparkled back. But Tōru has been on-shift for five hours, dealt with an angry family who discovered the hard way how they'd bought the wrong tent and couldn't return it, met nobody in the mood for making cute small-talk, and the last thing he wants is to be reminded about a match he _needed_ to win and didn't.

Tōru makes sure that nothing in his expression is strange and turns back to Hinata. "That will be 700 yen."

A mischevious look flits across Hinata's face for an instant.

"Hey," and he grins, like he's collected the sun in a bucket and upended it to slap into Tōru's face, "we're friends, right? Could I get a discount?"

Tōru almost throws the tape at Hinata's head. Almost. He settles for a faint twitching in his eyebrow.

"If you sign up for our points program, you can get 10% off the first shop."

The sparkles triple in number. "Okay!"

Tōru puts the form in front of the sparkle monster and watches as it fills its details in. He's assessing Hinata Shōyō, of course. Manager Sasegawa likes to learn the names of all the grade-schoolers that visit the store (or anyone who looks to be ten, which has led to many amusing incidents), so Hinata has to have been visiting this shop for years. The loyalty programs are per-person. 10% of 700 yen is only 70 - nothing at all.

_Simpleminded_ , is Tōru's assessment, as he begins to input Hinata's information into the computer system.

When he turns back, he doesn't expect to meet a pair of irises which have collected all the sunlight and focused it into a point. They glow under their own power as Hinata stares at Tōru, and Tōru--

Tōru has seen those eyes before.

"Let's play volleyball again sometime," Hinata says.

Tōru blinks and the force vanishes in an instant. Hinata hasn't moved. Has it been his imagination?

"Thank you for shopping," Tōru replies.

Hinata grins and waves as he dashes out of the store.

 

 

 

 

It's a little over a week later that Tōru sees Hinata Shōyō again.

A new packet of sports tape drops onto the counter. Tōru has been working at the store for three months with no Hinata in sight. He wonders if Hinata is visiting him deliberately.

"I got a copy of our last games from the coach," says Hinata, as he pays. He pulls out a disc and hands the money across like it's on a plate, so Tōru has no choice but to take it. "Let's play volleyball together, Grand King."

Off-shift, Tōru stares at the disc and remembers the luminescent eyes that returned.

They hadn't been his imagination.

 

 

 

 

Tōru's curiosity wins him over.

The disc contains four folders, footage of four matches. Tōru opens the last one first because it's labeled 'Inter-High Preliminaries', and recognises Date Tech and the Sendai City Gymnasium, but he doesn't recognise any school or anyone in the other videos aside from the team in black and orange. There are new faces to replace the third-years, and a captain with less presence than the last. Everyone looks young. Maybe Tōru's just gotten old.

Karasuno's members enter the court looking like losers dreaming about wins. Tōru remembers the team which hadn't let themselves be preoccupied with thoughts of winning or losing, just the desire to get every next point as if it were their last, the deuce between their pride and the regrets from when they'd fallen.

Tōru doesn't need very long to tell that Karasuno will be losing all four.

What it does take is several matches before Tōru works out why.

 

 

 

 

A set of compression sleeves land on the counter and Tōru notes a bandage taped beside an elbow.

"You watched the games, right?" says Hinata.

His eyes aren't doing the glowing thing again, yet he says the question like it's a statement of fact. It's an assumption that's entirely correct.

Something churns in Tōru's chest, and he wonders if he should pretend he hadn't seen them at all.

"It's 'kay," Hinata continues, misinterpreting the silence as an awkward one. "We sucked. We weren't good enough to stay on the court. You'd think that with Nishinoya and Tanaka there would still be enough experience to fill the gap the third-years left, but ..."

Tōru hums under his breath. Experience is a problem, but Hinata's concerns stem elsewhere.

"If you're asking _me_ to sign on as a coach, I hope you have a salary lying around, Chibi-chan."

"That's not it."

The front doors chime open and a woman enters the store. Tōru welcomes them and turns back to Hinata. "Then what is?"

Hinata stares at him as if the answer is obvious. "I want to play volleyball."

"Volleyball ..."

Tōru's fingers quiver involuntarily. He's been working at the store for months and hasn't set a ball for anyone since. Would it be horrible to set for Tobio's partner, who was once his enemy?

Tobio. The videos. The sets that Tōru could only make in his dreams.

"There's a game on Sunday," says Hinata, suddenly. "The neighbourhood association is playing. If you won't play with me, will you come watch with me?"

"Oh? Could Chibi-chan _like_ Oikawa-san?" _Because if that's the case, then 'volleyball' means ..._

Hinata beams.

"You're an amazing player!"

A hundred possibilities materialise and Tōru's head starts sorting through them all. "Is that so ..."

There's a pause, and it doesn't take long until it's broken.

"... _Ah!_ I'm sorry!" Hinata jumps aside like he's been hit in the back of the head with a ball. Behind him, the woman which had entered has selected her purchases and is waiting to pay. Hinata hastily collects the compression sleeves so Tōru can serve his next customer. "Call me when you make up your mind, Grand King, okay?"

And Hinata runs away.

Without leaving his number.

Tōru's brain spins into overdrive. He _knows_ that both he and Hinata know that Tōru has access to Hinata's number - in the store's database, which shouldn't be used for private purposes. Is it a test to tell Tōru's character? Or could Hinata actually be _that stupid_ , even with that luminescent, mind-reading stare? What is the real intention tucked inside the tiny bullet's mind, and --

Why did Tōru care?

The churning returns and Tōru lets himself groan once the woman has left the store.

"Good work, Shittykawa," he mutters to himself, a reasonable impersonation of Iwaizumi, and crushes the bitter not-quite-nostalgia curiously raising its head. "Excellent, Tōru. You've gone and found someone _interesting_."


	2. Genki (同病相憐れむ)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♦ Genki (misery loves company)  
> * lit. full of life/healthy (same disease, pity together)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologise in advance for how this whole fic ended up as plausible headcanons, but, the only thing I'm sorry about is the Japanese. (´･ω･｀)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank-you for your interest!! I hope your favourite character(s) will be depicted with the justice they deserve ☆  
> \-- shout at me if they aren't ! It's a personal goal.  
> 

Tōru's phone buzzes on the table.

 _Tō-chan_ , the message says, _look after Take-chan for me Sunday?_

Tōru's fingers have already moved to respond. _No. Go ditch him with Bā._

 _lololol salty_  
_Tō-tō needs to spend more time with kids his age !_  
_Take-chan already apologised. not like he meant to spill his juice all over your --_

Tōru stops reading. There's a pressure building in the base of his skull, so he takes a deep breath. Don't get mad, don't get mad, _don't get mad_ ...

The strategy is crude, yet it works well enough. Not as well as Iwaizumi physically beside him and diffusing the anger, but -- few things can compare.

Another message appears. _I know you don't have shift._

 _Don' wanna_ , Tōru types impulsively, and erases it as soon as he manages to read what his fingers have written. Something like that would earn him teasing into the next century from the hell-spawn Takeru and _both_ his parents. And Tōru's parents.

And Iwaizumi.

Fuck his impulses.

Tōru opts for his last resort: _I have a date, Saki-nē._

Pause.

 _Tell me earlier!! Woahhh!!_  
_Have a great night, Tō-chan_ ♥  
_lolololol_

An excited sticker of a cartoon fish burbles at him gleefully. Tōru looks at the fish, all spiny fins and bright orange scales, and decides he's never having an aquarium date ever again.

His sister isn't finished with him, however.

_Give me all the details!! Or I'll send Take-chan to get them from you lolol b  
make sure you bring home some children!!!_

... Fuck meditation.

Tōru throws the phone onto his bed and narrowly misses smashing it against the wall.

 

 

 

 

It's fortunate the phone didn't break, since he has to go fetch it eight minutes later.

"You made me look in the database for your number, Chibi-chan!" Tōru admonishes, after Hinata Shōyō has _finally_ picked up his phone, and forgotten all about how he'd asked Tōru to call him so _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH THE GRAND KING CALLED ME WOW THIS IS SO AWESOME_ , and ever since Tōru'd been messaged by his rude, inconsiderate, ass of a sister asking him to look after his rude, inconsiderate, ass of a nephew, the headache that spawned has done nothing but become the grand king of all headaches and claw around the inside of Tōru's skull.

Tōru thinks with some small misery that his list of talents don't include being able to recite his list of woes in one breath.

"Database?" echoes Hinata.

"From when you gave me your number for the loyalty program," Tōru explains. "People aren't supposed to look in there for personal things! Do you know how guilty I feel?"

"Ehhh?"

Tōru's mostly fishing for a reaction, because he's still puzzled if Hinata Shōyō is messing with him purposefully or if it's just his special breed of idiocy. Still, Tōru bristles. Tōru is the _king_ of innocent acts. If Hinata is screwing around, the innocent act has to go. "How can you forget to give me your number, Chibi-chan?"

"Uwaahh! I'm sorry!" There's a loud clatter, and when Hinata's voice grows distant, it occurs to Tōru that Hinata has dropped his phone on the floor. " _I messed up, I messed upppp, now I'll never play volleyball with_ _\--_ "

A shuffling follows.

"... Grand king?" Hinata tries, voice normal again.

"Hm?" Tōru still doesn't know what he thinks about the nickname.

"If you really didn't want to check, you ... could have waited until I visited it again? It's the only shop I go to. For sports things. Sasegawa-san is nice."

Hmm.

Tōru licks a puff of imaginary cream off his lip as he wonders how to respond, even though Hinata can't see him. "Are you crazy? How should I know you would?"

"Because you're not surprised when I always do."

Tōru chokes on the imaginary cream. Flirting? With no hesitation? It's not what Tōru'd expected. _Damnit._

"... Is everything alright, Grand king? I thought I heard a noise."

Hinata's voice is so earnest that honestly, fuck being interested. Fuck the mystery of Hinata Shōyō. Tōru should just drop everything right here and then. Never look back. Just abandon everything because this is going to become a long, long ride, and he's _already_ fighting frustration.

It's incredibly unfortunate that, since Tōru's never had trouble picking things up with his combination of good looks and intelligence, frustration is the anti-thesis of boredom.

"It was just your imagination, Chibi-chan," Tōru tells him.

"Okay."

"So?" says Tōru, expectantly.

"So ...?"

"Don't make me spell it out for you, Chi-bi~chan ~"

No response. Tōru can _hear_ the confusion.

"Seriously?" Tōru sighs. "Oikawa-san is free on Sunday."

Pause.

"R- _REALLY?!_ "

 _Not this again._ "My ears! _My poor ears --!_ "

Crash.

" _GRAND KING, ARE YOU OKAY?!_ "

 

 

 

 

"Owch," mutters Tōru.

He's weeping into his arm. While leaning against the outer wall of a swimming centre. Very carefully, so he doesn't mess up his hair. And they're mostly crocodile tears, but, nobody's really asking.

"I still have a _bruise_ , Chibi-chan," he says to the wall, even though years of diving onto the volleyball court have essentially made him bruise-proof, so falling onto a shelf hasn't affected him at all. "Have you ever heard about turning your voice down and ..."

There's an odd lack of response, so Tōru stops pretending to cry and lifts his head so he can look around.

Hinata is nowhere to be seen, and some people are staring.

Tōru looks around at his surroundings, shrugs, and simply picks a spot on the wall to lean against until Hinata notices he's missing.

What a waste of time.

Apparently, when Hinata'd said he'd heard that there is a game on Sunday and that the neighbourhood association is playing, he means Karasuno's coach mentioned that one of Sendai's many neighbourhood associations helps organise free volleyball sessions on weekends.

Fortunately, Tōru hadn't turned up thinking that he'd be watching a gripping fight to the death.

Tōru isn't too picky of a man, but Genki Fields is a little ... unsatisfying. A sign next to him explains his problem: in addition to the multi-sports hall, there's a sports track, swimming pool, skateboard park, fitness room, rock climbing wall, archery range, and a baseball field that takes thirty percent of the room on the grounds alone. It's a breadth of focus that reminds him of all the easily-distracted children in the flock he used to tutor.

Hinata is a flash of orange and white in his vision when he returns. Tōru's interest in Karasuno's little rocket is entirely a waste of time.

If it's a date, it doesn't start well, especially when Tōru gets stopped and is asked to pay a 200 yen entry fee. When he searches his wallet for coins, he spies Hinata using him as a cover and attempting to slide behind him surrepticiously.

"Excuse me," says the receptionist, stopping Hinata in his tracks. "Pardon, but you will need to pay the entry fee."

"But the volleyball is free for kids!"

"Please have our apologies. That is only for kids up to and including junior high."

Tōru stifles a snort. "Even Chibi-chan isn't chibi enough to sneak inside," he says once they leave the counter behind.

Hinata huffs back.

Tōru flashes him his signature victory sign.

They step through the large double doors that lead to the court. Tōru's first thought is that his apprehensions have not been unfounded. It's a small building - the room is barely large enough to fit a basketball field, and there are three volleyball half-courts squeezed in amidst the basketball lines. Two of them form a volleyball court and the other is like an afterthought, rotated sideways so it can fit in the space left over. Inside it is a gathering of little children.

Well, no wonder the receptionist hadn't been fooled with Hinata's appearance. They make Hinata look _tall_ , and they're all miniature Takerus -- Tōru can tell just by glancing at them that the tiny tykes will probably be his worst enemies.

"Hm?" says Hinata, when he realises he's bounded halfway across the room and Tōru's no longer with him. He looks back at the entrance. "Grand king! This way!"

The shout catches the attention of everyone present and they proceed to stare before hastily glancing away. Tōru notes that only one of the looks cycled through the signs of recognition. _Oikawa Tōru, of Aobajōsai_ , he could see her thinking, and then she looks at Hinata and there's no moment where she realises it's Karasuno's number ten. Tōru finds he doesn't mind it that way.

By the time Tōru weaves into the bleachers and walks across to where Hinata is standing, Hinata has already slipped into volleyball shoes and busy trying to stuff his street shoes into his bag. His movements are jerkily suspicious enough that he's clearly hoping that nobody's noticed him changing in the hall. Tōru gives the room another cursory scan, and Hinata has nothing to worry about. Appropriate shoes are the least of the children's class's concerns.

A volleyball materialises in Hinata's hands. Hinata beams.

"Let's play!"

Tōru sits down. "I don't feel like playing."

The look that Hinata gives him is so hollow that Tōru could douse him with water and he would come out dry. Tōru happens to have a lot of experience dealing with that expression from both children and grown women, so it doesn't faze him. He hooks his arms to each of the plastic chairs next to him, and tilts his head back so he's sprawled lazily and staring at the ceiling.

"You never asked me if I wanted to play," Tōru points out.

"But you came," said Hinata.

"I did."

All the adjacent seats in the bleachers are connected to each other by long metal bars and so Tōru's neck gets jostled when Hinata bounds off one and leaps into the row behind him.

The next moment, Tōru's scenic view of the light fixtures is blocked off by a giant, spiky, Hinata-shaped shadow.

"Then why did you come?"

Hinata's eyes aren't doing the freaky glowing thing yet, but he _is_ close enough that, if Tōru is on a date with a girl, he would have pulled her down and kissed her in order to garner a reaction. But he's not. He's out with his junior high school kōhai's volleyball partner, on one of the most _un-_ date-like outings he's ever been on in his entire life, and he can smell a whiff of fish on Hinata's breath -- which is both absolutely _disgusting_ and reminds him of his sister's _even more disgusting_ taste in digital emoticons.

The next moment, Tōru is looking at the court again, and he realises that he must have reached up and pushed Hinata's face away.

(By the shoulders. Please, let it have been by the shoulders.)

"Gross," he mutters.

Hinata drops into the chair next to him. "What was that?"

 _You need to work on your personal space_ , thinks Tōru. But of course, his mouth listens to the impulse to flirt every six minutes and says: "I wanted to watch you play."

Hinata lights up, all suns and roses. "Set for me!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don' wanna."

Hinata stares at the volleyball. He's silent for long enough that Tōru's assumed his astoundingly witty baby-talk comeback is going to get him teased, then Tōru _looks_ at the expression that Hinata is giving the ball, and --

The pair of glowing eyes flick up to Tōru's features without focusing on his face. Tōru's seen them before, the eyes. They're always looking _through_. Through the net, through the space between two teams, in third set lategame deuce where fatigue is a physical weight inside his sweat, bearing down with the knowledge that making a single mistake means months of work instantly go to waste. It's a measure of concentration that makes 'energy-conservation-Kunimi' look like a shame. It's the mark of a desire that catalogues every twitch from his opponents, seeing intent in every feint, and Tōru hopes - every time - that he can miraculously burst ahead or the crow's conditioning isn't good enough or else he'd become its prey.

Hinata Shōyō raises an arm and points at the court but Tōru feels like he's been slapped across the face. Simpleminded. Obnoxious. Klutzy, and quite possibly an idiot of the most divine order. Are they really coincidences? _Or are you actually --_

Hinata's mouth shifts, and the trance breaks. His eyes are just wide and eager, now. Whatever Tōru saw is gone.

"What about that?" says Hinata, still pointing. Tōru looks down the arm. The circle of children are being told how to keep their wrists together, where to keep their arms, and how to position their legs so they can push through with their entire body.

"What about ...?" says Tōru.

"Pass with me." Hinata tilts his head. "It'll be fine. The volleyball won't hit you in the face like if you set."

Tōru figures he should be insulted -- as if he'd let a volleyball hit him with _his_ ability -- yet, that's exactly what it is about the comment that doesn't make sense. Hinata calls him Grand King. Hinata's played against him, and Hinata _knows_ the level of Tōru's skill. Tōru hesitates.

He wants to decline. It hadn't exactly been a lie when he said he wanted to watch Hinata play. Except now, he's more interested in the game that Hinata is playing with him - if there is any game at all.

And, well, he doesn't want the chibi to think he's actually scared of the ball smacking into him.

"Fine," Tōru concedes, and stands up to remove his jacket.

Hinata's explodes into so much enthusiasm that Tōru wouldn't be surprised if he's the sole reason that black and white televisions turned into colour. Tōru lets himself be dragged to the side of the court.

Hinata lobs the volleyball in a smooth arc toward him.

Even before it leaves Hinata's fingers, Tōru has started tracking its arc, hands and legs sliding into position. His knees signal to his conscious mind that his jeans are too constricting, his back says his shirt needs more room between its seams, and his ankles tell him that the friction beneath his feet is a world away from floor handling in volleyball shoes. Consciously, Tōru relays a couple of adjustments to his body, and it adjusts with the aid of years spent conditioning and training. By the time the ball falls onto Tōru's arms, Tōru can pass it back as easily in street clothes as in his volleyball uniform.

Hinata sparkles as the ball returns to him, and he bumps the volleyball back. The sparkles look so real and sharp that Tōru starts worrying for his safety.

The ball is a little off-course. Tōru's feet are already moving, careful not to cross.

Pass.

Hinata opens his mouth. It moves, trying to form words. He doesn't get any time to say them.

Pass.

Pass.

" _Wooaaaaaaaaah!_ " exclaims Hinata, loudly.

Tōru ignores the looks sent in their direction. "It's just a drill, Chibi-chan. Calm down a little --"

"It's a _drill!_ A drill with the grand king!"

 _Well_ , thinks Tōru, remembering the fanclub which used to follow him around high school because they knew exactly when and where he'd always be, _if Chibi-chan puts it that way ..._

Yet that raises the question: _Is_ Hinata Shōyō a fan? Other than the incident with the eyes, Hinata hasn't been paying much attention to Tōru at all. And Tōru's dates usually involve a lot more overt flirting.

He eyes the stupid grin on Hinata's face and has an easier time imagining spluttering than flirting.

"It's been a long time since anyone was able to give you a game, Chibi-chan," Tōru remarks.

Pass. "Eh?"

"I watched the videos. The ones _you_ gave me, unless you're forgetting."

"Aah. Yeah."

The next time the ball returns to Tōru, its arc is disheartened. Tōru has to stretch a little to send it back, and a hint of sourness creeps into his mouth when he accidentally chews his lip instead of sticking out his tongue. "Tobio-chan hasn't worked with you recently?"

"He's been spending his time with the first-years." Pass. "We still don't have a new setter."

"Hm ~"

Hinata looks at Tōru curiously. "Why did you want the videos?"

 _Hah?_ "You were the one that gave them to me."

"Didn't you ask for them?"

"No," and Tōru swallows his scowl, catching the ball, "you told me to watch them to tell you what I think, Chibi-chan."

"Really?"

"Really."

Tōru holds the ball in front of him.

"I forgot," says Hinata.

Tōru maybe, _maybe_ , deliberately aims for Hinata's face with the underhand. Hinata squawks instead of hustling backwards, because so far it's been Hinata who's been sending balls every which way - Tōru's aim is so consistent it's quite frankly boring - and the moment of surprise lasts just long enough for the volleyball to ricochet off Hinata's brow.

Hinata scrambles through the bundle of children to collect the ball.

"Chibi-chan, work on your memory," says Tōru, when Hinata returns. "What's his name?"

"Who?" asks Hinata.

"Your new wing spiker."

"Uhhhhh." Hinata looks down at the volleyball and squeezes it like he's asking it a question. "Tajiri. Tajiri ... Sa-to-shi ...? Ah. Tajiri Takeshi."

"Tajiri-kun, mm?" The name is unfamiliar. "It's too bad, despite all your victories last year. It must have been a bad intake for Karasuno if your captain needed his basketball kōhai on the team."

"That's not true! Fujihara-kun isn't too bad, he's getting really good at --"

Hinata blinks.

"Eh? How did you know that Tajiri was -- is --?"

Tōru smiles. "Secret."

"Wow! That's the grand king for you!"

Hinata dazzles without a hint of shame. Tōru's first impulse is to croon at him, to feed the little hatchling, so he can be showered with that admiration to no end. Just wait until Hinata hears about _how_ Tōru'd done it! There'd been _plenty_ of evidence in the videos showing that Tajiri was a basketball player, especially for him. The blocking that spoke of court experience, the technique wrought with rudimentary issues. Tajiri jumps with one foot when backed into a corner, forgets to arch his shoulders when making receives, sends strong attacks across the court with basic topspin. And as if learning the senpai-kōhai relationship had been _easy_ \- he'd spent over an _hour_ replaying and freeze-framing, all so he could tell --

"Hey, hey," says Tōru, "don't think I'm going to tell you anything until you get on that salary, Chibi-chan."

Hinata's fluff dissipates by 3%, to be replaced by confusion. "... Kyeh?"

"Pay me ~"

"Where? What? _Why?_ "

"Because," Tōru says slowly, still in a good enough mood to tolerate humouring him, and amused enough to draw out the tension, "I know exactly how Karasuno can go back to winning again."

An instant of dramatic silence.

_"UWOAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

There it is. The ... sparkle rain. Explosion of confetti. Every single birthday party in a person's life all condensed into a second.

Actually. Hinata's happiness is ... loud. Tōru didn't think it would be that loud. Tōru'd hoped it would lead to more of the admiration thing that Hinata'd been doing, but it hasn't. Everyone in the room is staring again, and it looks like they may get kicked out. Tōru expected it to be more satisfying.

Tōru knows what the frustration feels like when all you can do is lose, which is what Karasuno has been doing. But there's _something_ that's making it hard for Tōru to share in the happiness (if it _is_ indeed happiness) and excitement that Hinata is sharing. It's like learning that a stranger has won the lottery. It doesn't involve you, so what does it matter if they happen to be happy?

Strange.

Wait. Why is Hinata _crying?_

"Grand king," says Hinata, face all scrunched up, and there are definitely two blobs of tears gripping to his eyelashes with all the strength in the world. "I'm so glad you came, grand king ..."

What?

"What?"

"Today was so much fun!"

"Huh?" All they did were drills for fifteen minutes. And what did this have to do with the videos? _Were_ they still talking about the videos? Or that salary?

Hinata pauses, and scrubs his tears away. "We can do this again next week."

"That's not how a salary works, Chibi-chan."

"Volleyball is fun."

Tōru looks at Hinata, at the face which had been crying, the same face which had held those eerie luminescent eyes, looking back at him with some expression he can't read, and --

And Tōru doesn't _understand_.

If Iwaizumi were here, he would know. He would smack Tōru on the head and insult him and call him names, but Iwaizumi would also rephrase the situation in a way that Tōru could grasp. Then Tōru could laugh it off and go back to acting sickeningly adorable again. That's Tōru's sense of fun.

 _Why do you play volleyball, Oikawa?_ Iwaizumi's presence asks, within Tōru's brain.

Tōru opens his mouth and closes it again.

He hasn't played volleyball since Iwaizumi left.

It's been a while since they've stopped, and Tōru only just starts to notice the soreness drifting beneath the surface. He doesn't need to look down to know that his wrists are tinted pink, because he can feel the warmth blooming from them and all across the rest of his skin. They're the marks of a good receive, an accurate pass. Excellent performance. Satisfaction and control.

He misses the feeling.

(Tōru doesn't play volleyball because of Iwaizumi.)

"Okay," says Tōru, before he can stop himself.

"Yay!" Hinata exclaims.

...

Too late.

 _Fuck_ his impulses. _Fuck them all._

 

 

 

 

Tōru doesn't really mind. Not really. The tickle of interest is still there, plastered to his skull. Tōru realises too late that it'd fled there when Hinata did the weird glowing eyes thing and, no matter how much he tries to peel it off, it refuses to leave until he can give it the answers it's looking for.

At least going out means that Tōru gets to dodge his sister again.

 

 

 

 

"We're not coming here next time," says Tōru, flatly. Too early, too dull, not worth the time at all.

Hinata eyes him as he changes his shoes again. "You sounded like Kageyama just then, grand king."

"C-Chibi-chan!" Tōru grips his chest. "I'm _hurt!_ Anything Tobio-chan has, he got from _me._ "

Hinata makes a sound that goes up and down, some strange birdsong-inspired notes of affirmation.

... It better have been affirmation.

"Where should we go?" asks Hinata, later, before they part ways.

Tōru thinks for a moment. Then, he decides:

"I'll meet you outside Torono train station. 1pm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> torono was a [mistake](http://imgur.com/GeYX8Hl) i rolled with anyway


	3. I'll wait for your toss (東京)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♠ I'll wait for your toss (Tōkyō)

Tōru has a nice room, really. It's all his, at the top of the house, in a corner that doesn't ever get any sun, but that just means that Tōru doesn't have to worry about blinds or glare or any of the humidity that his sister's room gets itself involved in because of all the showers that get taken. Plus, his sister's moved out already, so he doesn't even need to pass by his greatest annoyance every time he needs to use the bathroom.

The room is big enough for sleepover study sessions, able to fit in two futons without having to move the furniture. It's been a while since he's had to use it, but he still absently steps around the space where it would have been. He's more intent on drying his hair. His phone is in its charging cradle when he goes to grab it.

Every second Sunday, at 20:30 hours, Tōru dials a specific number.

"About time," says Iwaizumi, instead of greeting him.

Every second Sunday, Iwaizumi Hajime waits for the call.

"Iwa-chan, it's almost like you missed me ~!" Tōru looks at the clock. "I'll have you know, I'm always exactly on time."

20:32, his clock says back. Close enough.

"'Fashionably late' doesn't count as 'on time', you realise."

"But it counts as why you miss me!"

"Shut up, Shittykawa."

The words are insulting, yet Tōru can hear the faintest of pleased curls. Tōru has a very specific effect on Iwaizumi, and Tōru's enjoyment of it has the same effect, and it all becomes a recursive loop that always makes Tōru happier.

"Iwa-channnnn ~"

"... what?"

"Today is a good day."

"Did something happen?"

"I got to talk to you, of course." And Tōru went on his nobody-knows-if-it's-a-date date, but he's not ready to count that as 'good' quite yet.

There's a resigned sigh from across the line.

"Admit it," says Tōru, "you walked right into that one."

The sigh morphs into a growl.

Tōru grins. "Scary."

"Have you ever pulled your head from your ass for even a second?"

 _Back to insults again_ , thinks Tōru. It's starting to get boring, so instead of firing off a casual "Who's asking?", Tōru laughs the impulse away before it irritates him.

"How was your day?" Tōru asks.

And Iwaizumi tells him.

Tōru is a great listener, really. He tries to remember everything that Iwaizumi tells him, even if he doesn't care. He makes all the right noises at the right times, too. Like " _oh!_ " when Iwaizumi says something that's mildly surprising, or " _gyaa ~_ " when there are animals involved.

"-- she was a stray, so I couldn't feed her. She still followed me home --"

Tōru leans back and swivels around to place his feet on his bed. Hell if Tōru knows why animals are _constantly_ involved.

No answers mysteriously land before him, to nobody's surprise, so Tōru amuses himself by eyeing the poster on the opposite wall. It's of a beach volleyball match, mid-game. A female beach volleyball match, two-on-two women with amazing bodies dressed only in bikinis. Tōru doesn't keep it because of the fanservice, though. He keeps it because of the instant captured so sharply that grains of sand picked up by the runners hover suspended in mid-air -- the tense, breathless moment after a ball has been set, the spiker has jumped, and the bodies on the other side of the net move into position so that they may counter the play.

Iwaizumi finishes telling him about a rally in his most recent volleyball game, and Tōru pauses thoughtfully.

"Sounds like you had fun," Tōru tells him.

"It was intense. Yeah."

There's another pause. Toward the end, it occurs to Tōru that he's supposed to continue the conversation.

"What about you?" asks Iwaizumi, before Tōru needs to say something.

"Huh?"

"Volleyball?"

"Ah." Tōru eyes the poster, which has quivered. A corner falls off. He really needs to fix the thing to his wall again - it could have been adorable symbolism if the timing is less crass, somehow. "Oikawa-san hasn't played volleyball ever since Iwa-chan left for Tōkyō."

The line falls silent.

Tōru hops to his feet and searches for where his adhesive has run off to.

"... I'm sorry," says Iwaizumi.

"Sorry?" echoes Tōru. "For what? The part where you didn't mention your parents wanted you to move to Tōkyō if you failed? Or the part where I thought you'd remain here, and I declined my university invitation so I could stay?"

"... Mn."

The adhesive is beneath January's edition of Monthly Volley. Tōru teases it out from a pile of books, the only reminder left in Tōru's room about the national university entrance exams. Some of the books are Iwaizumi's, from when he stayed at Tōru's place to avoid the constant presence of his family.

_Why did you play so much volleyball, Hajime? All you come home with is bruises! If you hadn't done that then you wouldn't be cramming everything at the last minute, too. You need sleep. You don't sleep enough. Stop sleeping in so much, you need to study!_

Tōru remembers how Iwaizumi'd bowed his head, mortified his parents were telling him off in front of him: _We're sorry about our son, Oikawa-kun. Both of you are long friends, and you're his captain, too. It would be good if you could encourage him to stop with such a silly hobby._

Tōru'd stood his ground. _Oji-san. Oba-san. Being captain does not matter without a great team. Iwaizumi is Aobajōsai High's ace, the best player in the school. I need Iwaizumi by my side, and we need him in order to win. I apologise for my rudeness, but I hope that you may open your eyes and see the talent it is you refuse to see._

(He'd also thought: _Iwa-chan is **mine**._ )

"Hey," says Tōru.

No response.

"Iwa-chan, are you there? Cheer up, cheer up --"

There's an intake of breath like a drowning man gasping for air. Tōru cringes because he's made Iwaizumi cry. _Oh, fuck._ Bad time for a joke, apparently. _Fuck._ Iwaizumi's always hidden his frustration well.

_Fucking hell._

"Shut up, Oikawa," says Iwaizumi.

"Okay."

"..."

"..."

"Iwaizumi?"

The silence that follows sounds like it's listening.

"Why are you crying?"

"Why else, Shittykawa?" Iwaizumi makes a strange sound. "Why ... else ..."

Tōru rubs his head. He looks around as if expecting to see Iwaizumi near him. "You know I don't get it, Iwa-chan."

"I know. Socially-ignorant-kawa."

"I'm socially aware _enough!_ " Tōru rebukes, and huffs. "But Iwa-chan has to tell me. Otherwise I'll assume that Iwa-chan found a girlfriend and got dumped before Oikawa-san was able to send her his collection of embarrassing childhood photos and --"

"Stop it."

"How am _I_ supposed to know what Iwa-chan is thinki--"

Tōru realises that if he wants to keep Iwaizumi, he should shut up.

Silence drops by and waves hello again.

Tōru has long fixed his poster and dropped onto his bed, in the middle of contemplating if he should see if silence is something he can re-divert somehow (maybe ask on a date), when Iwaizumi makes a noise. It's not a particularly pleasant noise: half thoughtful, half snot.

Iwaizumi blows his nose and Tōru wonders if he's composed himself by now.

"Iwa-chan?" he tries, tentatively.

"... Sorry."

"It's okay," says Tōru. He's managed to clean his room a little while waiting, so it's not too bad.

Iwaizumi makes an annoyed sound. "I shouldn't be so emotional over this. It's pathetic."

"Only if you keep letting your imagination out of your control, you know? Don't worry. The university thing won't happen again."

"It _can't_ happen again. I'm going to get into Keidai, and then I'm going to have their sports department send you a letter. I can't spend another year at this prep school just so I can ... so I can get in."

"Yup."

"... Yeah."

"Definitely."

Iwaizumi falls silent.

"Well, then, if that's all --" begins Tōru.

" _You idiot!_ " Iwaizumi shouts. "As if it's going to be _that easy!_ Moron! _Stupidkawa!_ "

"It _is!_ " Tōru insists. "Because it's you, Iwa-chan. You still have me. You know that if you need my time, or you need me to help get you somewhere, I can get you in. I can do that for you because you're Iwa-chan, and I know you can do the rest yourself. Or -- Ah! You're worried about being abandoned, aren't you?"

A small choking noise tells Tōru his conclusion is correct. Abandonment. Tōru frowns. Annoyance settles in and wraps around his vision, accompanied by a mild irritation. It feels like itchy floor burn from a dive which has failed to reach the ball.

Tōru is only a setter, and all setters need strikers in order to make a play.

As if Tōru would abandon someone as special as Iwaizumi Hajime.

"So what if we're apart right now?" says Tōru. "I won't leave you like everyone else has. Silly Iwaizumi."

"Silly," repeats Iwaizumi.

"Silly," says Tōru again.

"You're such an ass."

"Yes," Tōru agrees. "And you have enough empathy for both of us, Iwa-chan."

For some reason, Iwaizumi laughs. Tōru draws a blank. If Tōru's told that he's enough of an ass for multiple people, he'll just let them know they'd handed him the perfect punchline themselves. Except Tōru tops. He definitely tops. The joke doesn't seem to work in reverse where empathy is involved. Empathy and sex? Empath sex? Whatever, the humour in it seems to cheer up Iwaizumi, so Tōru lets the thought die.

"You're right," says Iwaizumi. "It's my education. I'll -- I need to take responsibility. Thank you."

An uncomfortable sensation envelops Tōru's chest when he's thanked, and it's so strong that Tōru scowls and clicks his tongue, dropping his mask for a very long series of seconds in order to scrape the emotion away. He flushes the pipeline. It empties with little fanfare. The smile slides back on.

He needs to change the subject, or the unconscious social pressures involved with being a friend will attempt to chain him again.

"I hope you keep playing volleyball," says Tōru.

"You can't tell me that if you've stopped, Oikawa," is the reply. Most of the sniffling choking is gone now.

"I haven't stopped. When did I ever say that? Chibi-chan keeps asking me to play volleyball with him, anyway."

Iwaizumi makes a noise that Tōru can't read. "Karasuno's number ten?"

"The same one! You won't believe it, but he's kind of --" Tōru pauses. "-- Kind of nocturnal, maybe."

"What?"

"Glowing eyes! His eyes glow! And he says things like - like ..."

_The volleyball won't hit you like if you set._

Tōru licks his lips. An idea settles into his mind suddenly, sliming its way into every one of his thought receptors, and makes them sticky. They stick to each other and to him. The intrigue of Hinata Shōyō suddenly takes on another flavour, and Tōru ...

How stupid. Tōru isn't _afraid_ of setting.

"... Oikawa?" says Iwaizumi.

"Mm?" Tōru responds.

"What'd he say?"

"Hmm ... let me think? He said that it wouldn't be worth it if I set for him. He's been spoiled by Tobio-chan, can you believe it?"

There's a silence, and Tōru wonders if Iwaizumi believes him. Is the coolness in his face called apprehension? It feels like his skin has become a layer of snowflakes. If he touches it, it'll start to make chunks of his face fall away.

He wants to ask Iwaizumi but doesn't care enough ( _scared_ ) to really know.

"... Aren't you upset?" Iwaizumi asks.

"No," Tōru says, honestly.

"You ... you were, in junior high."

"That was then. I know I can't reach Tobio-chan now, even if I try to surpass my best, so it doesn't matter."

"Are you giving up?"

"I've accepted it."

There's more to it, of course. Tōru deliberately avoids the details. Iwaizumi notices.

"If it were me," says Iwaizumi, slowly, and a hint of choking comes back to his voice, "I would be upset."

"Then, you can be upset _for_ me, Iwa-chan ~"

Tōru isn't serious.

"I am," is Iwaizumi's entirely serious reply. "I switched to middle blocker."

And he hangs up.

Tōru blinks. A pain envelops his lower lip, and he realises he's bitten the corner of his mouth. The phone sits in his hand heavier than it's ever been before. His hair is dry, now, but the towel he's using has become entirely soaked. He needs to drop it in the laundry. Tōru understands Iwaizumi a minute too late: _I'll wait for your set._

In Tōru's poster, the setter and the spiker have taken their turn.

_(When Hinata implied that the setting the volleyball would hurt Tōru, did he know this --?)_

The blocker and receiver watch him expectantly when he walks out the door.


	4. The outlook of a teenager (上の木の枝にカラスが見えました)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☼ The outlook of a teenager (A crow seen above in the branches of a tree)
> 
> Yachi Hitoka, taking the stage!! H-hopefully without tripping, or dying, or anything else just as embarrassing ...

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

"It's nearly five-thirty," says Coach Ukai.

"My bad. I was helping Sato-kun with his cross dribble and ... lost track of time."

"Ah." Coach Ukai looks away. "You're all warmed up? Come inside." He shouts to the room: "We'll start A vs B matches now!"

The room responds: "Yes, sir!"

Hitoka turns around from where she's collecting stray volleyballs just as Karasuno's tardiest member hustles in, and everyone else hurries into position.

"Hey, Hitoka-chan," Tajiri Takeshi says to her with a smile, as he passes by. It's a very charismatic smile, confident without being arrogant, calming and reassuring like fragrant herbal teas. Hitoka can feel her ears beginning to steam, and prays he doesn't notice as she goes about jotting the practice match details down. His dimples are cute. Beyond them, and his basketball-appropriate height -- 1.84m, he says, which Hitoka is convinced is _absolutely the work of aliens_ \-- he's like Ennoshita in how there's nothing especially remarkable about him. Except the small twinkle in his eye when he looks at her.

Or how he rubs his nose while waiting for people to reply.

"H-hi, Takeshi-kun!" Hitoka splutters.

Gosh, how can he still give her this sort of reaction even though been months since he joined? It's like the whole of Karasuno High School is determined to kill her via every death possible.

... Death by chocolate glances and sweetheart desserts.

(Hitoka _still_ has no idea how they'd gotten to using each others' first names. W-whose idea had it been again? She's a _manager_ , so isn't that _COMPLETELY_ inappropriate or something?!!??)

Hitoka jumps when Coach Ukai blows his whistle. Death by heart attack it is.

Everyone else is already set up, so Takeshi flashes her a quick thumbs-up and dashes to the bottom left corner.

... That heart attack sounds amazing right about now.

Slowly, Hitoka looks back at the notes on the clipboard. Apparently, Takeshi is playing on both teams. Surely Shimizu-senpai never had to deal with these sorts of feelings.

_Please, stay cool, Yachi Hitoka!!_

Halfway through correcting her error, Hitoka yawns.

_Wow. So interested. Just like a delinquent. So cool._

It _is_ late, though. They always do around an hour once everyone has turned up, so it looks like Hitoka will be getting home after her mother again. It hasn't always been late like this - once upon a time, any after school training sessions always had group trainings first, as soon as school ended, then personal training sessions after. Hitoka remembers when Coach Ukai had announced that they would be swapping the order because Takeshi'd asked her the day before.

"I want to help them," Takeshi confided, rolling the net. Both of them were packing up the gym together. Hitoka had the key, and Takeshi volunteered to stay and assist her.

"Who?" asked Hitoka.

"The Karasuno Basketball Club."

"Oh."

Takeshi took it upon himself to lug everything. Hitoka felt a bit useless just helping him hold the door open, but he waved it off. "Don't worry, don't worry, I'm a guy. I'm supposed to do this," he'd say.

So Hitoka said: "You must like basketball a lot."

"I do. Basketball, and volleyball, and badminton, and ... and court sports. I like the court. The court likes me."

Hitoka wouldn't understand his meaning until she witnessed Tajiri Takeshi jump. He's already tall, and while his jump isn't _Hinata-crazy_ , it's still a hand higher than Tsukishima's, and Tsukishima is _literally a crane_. If Hinata can jump as high as Tsukishima and see the whole court, Takeshi can probably see the entire building from there.

"I'm not familiar with Karasuno's basketball club," Hitoka admitted. She twiddles her toes inside her sneakers. "They're ... in the first gymnasium, right?"

"It's small. _Really_ small. Like niboshi, tiny dried fish. Since Karasuno is better at volleyball the school decides to cook the the basketball club until there's nothing left, and niboshi dissolves into the _nicest_ broth, and do you ever wonder if heaven will decide to replace rain with miso soup someday --"

A thunderous growl rumbled through the storeroom. A head poked around the corner.

"Ahaha," Takeshi laughed, dimples blooming into tiny sunrises. "Sorry, Yachi-san. I'm just a little hungry."

Hitoka remembers the bottom of her stomach feeling _warm_.

Less than ten minutes later, everything was packed away. Hitoka and Takeshi chorused, "Thanks for your help."

Takeshi hovered.

"I'm sorry for asking a strange question, Yachi-san ..."

"Eh? Y-you haven't asked anything totally weirdo yet." Woah, way to be so _rude_ , Hitoka! Is that what Shimizu-senpai would have done? "B-but, you can ask ...?"

Takeshi rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I haven't asked it yet."

"O-oh! Sorry! Sorry, don't --"

"That's alright. Umn, do you think that Coach Ukai would mind, if I wanted to be in both clubs at once ..." He drifted off, before suddenly shouting: "Yachi-san! Hoy, _be careful --!_ "

It all happened at once. There was a mop. There was a bucket. The world teetered out of existence and in again, like the horizon line from a boat rocking between the planes of this world and the netherworld.

Oh. She could see it now. The news headlines, her mother crying over her grave. Local Highschool Girl Kicks The Bucket, And Gets A Concussion: Once The Mop Hath Fallen. And ... something catchy. Something _amazingly_ horrible --

_I'm going to die._

"-- chi-san! Ya --"

" _Hitoka-chan!"_

There's a loud clatter.

"... Geh?"

Hitoka blinks and realises she isn't dead. Oh. That's a pleasant surprise. There's someone enveloping her with their presence, all shadows and broad, broad shoulders wrapping her in smoky, dark, ash. It takes a moment for Hitoka to realise the spikes she's seeing aren't demon horns but from Coach Ukai's hair. Behind him, obvious from his height, Takeshi accidentally caught the ball in the middle of an overhead set. That's right, he alternates with Nishinoya as setter for team A every week. The volleyball club is still in the middle of training. Takeshi stares at her, paralysed - the look on his face is like he'd been caught in startled freeze-frame.

Coach Ukai tilts Hitoka's head, and it's mildly surreal when he leans closer to check her eyes. Hitoka tries to open her mouth and say that she's fine, but only manages a tiny squeak of surprise.

Hinata's blazing hair tries to poke around Takeshi's torso as he tries to see what's going on. Hitoka appreciates his kindness, yet she still can't help fidgeting. She _really_ doesn't want anyone else staring.

"I-is Yachi-san alright?" Takeshi asks, cautiously.

"No hit," announces Coach Ukai, drawing back to a manageable distance. "How are you feeling? Can you stand?"

"I think so." Hitoka tries. Her knees wobble, but she succeeds.

"Okay." Coach Ukai picks himself up and turns back to the game. "Fujihara, swap with Nishinoya! Nishinoya, you're ref! Kageyama, I want you to _slowly_ transition into slightly more challenging sets -- continue play!"

"Aye-aye!"

"Understood."

"Y- y- yes, sir!"

Hitoka notices the first-year Fujihara dragging his feet to the court, trembling so hard that it looks like someone's put something in his shorts. He nearly falls to the ground when Nishinoya slaps him on the back, and blanches further. Hitoka finds she's really identifying with the face that he's making. It's the most relatable thing she's seen in her entire life.

Coach Ukai bends down to pick up her clipboard, and Hitoka realises it had fallen to one side, when ...

Oh. She'd been having flashbacks.

Oh. She fainted.

_Oh._

...

How embarrassing.

"Hey," Coach Ukai says to her, softly. "Do you need to go home early?"

Special attention by the coach. Extra mortifying.

"N ... No! I'm okay. I'm alright!"

Coach Ukai's brows are still drawn, and he doesn't seem to be convinced. "Manager or not, you've still got to look after yourself."

 _I think I am_ , Hitoka is about to say.

She's scanning her eyes everywhere for some kind of distraction, and maybe that's why she notices that Coach Ukai seems more _tired,_ somehow. It's something about the invisible grip wrapping around his posture, or the lines crossing his cheeks that weren't there before. If Hitoka's mother were to see him, she'd say that: "No, no, we can't use this shot. Look at his gesture. We can clean up the face, but we can't clean up the energy."

Coach Ukai looks tired.

Suddenly Hitoka feels like she's doing much, much better.

"No," says Hitoka. "I'll stay. I won't zone out like that again. Um. I'll try not to."

Coach Ukai eyes her for a moment, briefly touches her forehead for a couple of seconds in order to confirm her temperature, then nods sharply.

"Alright," he tells her, with the smallest of genuine smiles on his usually serious face, and _wow_ there must have been a thousand butterfly eggs lying in Hitoka's stomach because they all spontaneously hatched at once --

Hitoka suddenly wants to play volleyball too.

"D-do you like tea, Coach Ukai?" Hitoka says, before the rest of her brain invites her to lose her nerve.

"Hmm?"

Coach Ukai pauses. He's halfway through turning around, which makes Hitoka's random idea feel worse.

"Ah --" Go, Hitoka! "I just -- the weather is going to start getting colder soon, so, I was thinking that tea is the least I can do for everyone, so --"

Coach Ukai looks at her oddly.

"Have a talk with Sensei about that," he says, then walks off. "Man, in my day, we didn't have cute managers offering us tea in the middle of winter ..."

Hitoka pretends she hasn't heard him murmuring. "I'll do that!" she calls back, and Coach Ukai waves.

It's a struggle for Hitoka to keep her cheers inside. _I'll make you proud, Shimizu-senpai!_

 

 

 

 

"Good work!" Ennoshita calls, when they're done for the day.

"Wooo!" cheers Nishinoya, spinning around.

"Yosh!" Takeshi shouts, and he bends down to meet Nishinoya's double high-five excitedly. He jerks around and hastily bows. "Thanks for your work, Ennoshita-senpai!"

Ennoshita gives that combination smirk and laughing eyes expression he's managed to perfect as captain, perfect for squirreling unruly little kids into line. "You too, Tajiri-kun. Make sure you turn up before five pm next time!"

"I will!" says Takeshi.

Takeshi and Nishinoya race each other out of the hall.

Hitoka steps into the air more calmly, though in no less of a good mood. It isn't really too surprising to her that Takeda-sensei likes his teas, and gave plenty of suggestions on how Hitoka can organise it all. Should they use cups, or mugs, how would they store all of them, and there are quite a few members in the volleyball club so there would be _so much tea_ \-- how would she manage all the hot water? It's so much more complicated than Hitoka expected, yet the prospect of complication does nothing to her excited energy.

When Hinata turns up with his bicycle, Hitoka is still busy thinking.

"Ready to go?" Hinata asks.

"Yes!" says Hitoka, then she realises she hasn't changed and therefore, very not ready to go. "N ... Not yet! Uhm, please wait for me, I'm sorry!"

Hinata smiles at her. The setting sun ruffles his hair and rubs his cheeks with its rays, ignites the spirit within amber eyes as it waves goodnight, and Hitoka is sure that Hinata and the sun must be cousins somehow. Most of Hinata's smile is in his eyes. It grounds the sky to the earth and the butterflies in Hitoka's body try to fly out of her skin.

"Okay," says Hinata.

"See yas," adds Tanaka, subdued, passing the two of them by.

Hitoka waves to him as she dashes off and is in too much of a hurry to notice if Tanaka replies.

She passes Takeshi and Nishinoya on the way back. It looks like Takeshi's teaching Nishinoya some slam-dunk. That, or they're playing a boys' wrestling game her mother always had something to say about, where Nishinoya's head is the ball ...

A thought occurs as she and Hinata start their journey home.

"Hey, Hinata?" says Hitoka.

"Mmnh?"

"Haven't ... weren't Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san friends?"

Hinata looks at her and it feels like a stare.

"Friends?" He pauses. "... I guess?"

"Sorry," Hitoka says quickly. "That must have been such a stupid question --"

"We're teammates."

"... Oh."

Hinata is still looking at her. Hitoka feels her intestines wilting and drying. Well. It can't get worse, and it seems like Hinata wants to hear more? "They just seemed like they hung out together, since they were so ..."

"They liked Shimizu-senpai," Hinata says bluntly.

"Aaah ..." Hitoka sighs. She knew it. She knew it all along. She should have known it'd only be a matter of time until she became Townsperson B again. Tea, really? Why did tea matter if she's not as pretty or amazing as Shimizu-senpai --

"I like Yachi-san."

Slowly, Hitoka turns to look at Hinata, only to find Hinata staring back at her, more serious than she's ever seen him outside of volleyball.

"... Eeh?" she manages.

Was that. _Was that a confession?!_

"..."

"..."

After a few seconds, his eyes grow _enormous_.

"Wait," Hinata breaks the awkward silence, confused, "was that comment that you're not awesome meant to be internal monologue? Because I really did mean it, but if you didn't mean to say it out loud, it's perfectly --"

Hitoka's throat releases a loud screech that _she_ hadn't even known she's capable of, and she's so flustered that her hands fly over his mouth to stop him from talking. Oh, oh, even her _internal monologue_ isn't capable of staying in her head, now! What was she -

"Mmfph," says Hinata.

 _Look where your hands are_ , translates Hitoka, and she squeaks (did he confess did he confess _did he confess--)_ before tucking them away.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry --"

"Eh?" asks Hinata blankly.

Hitoka looks at him. Hinata looks back, without any sort of silly blush like the one she has to have on her face, and Hitoka's heart sinks as she realises she's jumped to conclusions again.

But wow. His eyes really are gemstone-pretty. She could store eggs in that fluffy nest-hair and trust them to be safe. Bless his innocent soul.

"N... Nothing! Don't worry about it." Hitoka stammers.

Her heart ignores her and continues its journey down into the underworld. _I'm going to die_ , Hitoka thinks, because she's watched enough television dramas to know what's going on. Everything makes sense now. Her thoughts. Her reactions.

_I'm there. I'm at that age._

_I'm starting to get an interest in boys._

"Umm, Yachi-san?" says Hinata.

"Y-yes?" Hitoka chokes out, while her internal monologue is screaming _Oh god oh god oh god can he read my mind please don't tell me he can read my mind oh god say he doesn't know I was just thinking about how cute he is I'm not old enough to date yet what about my grades I just want to be friends --_

"Did someone say something to make you doubt?"

This fish in her waterfall. Yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. A crow was sitting on a branch of a tree, with a piece of cheese --

A tiny part of Hitoka notes that Hinata's gemstone-pretty eyes are reflecting the light, even though the rest of his face is in shadow, but dismisses it because she's trying to stay as close friends with the warm embrace of denial.

"It- It's nothing --!"

"Really?" asks Hinata, head tilted.

"Really," Hitoka tells him. "Really, really! I just ... I feel like ..." _Coach Ukai is tired._

_\-- except now I don't know if I only noticed because I was checking him out, and I can't say that now because then **everyone** is going to know that I've been perving on the volleyball club, though they do look good in shorts, did you **really** just think that Hitoka -- imagine what Shimizu-senpai would say if she could see you now!_

Hinata Shōyō blinks.

"... I feel like everyone is tired," Hitoka finishes lamely, feeling like she's run a marathon.

 _Wow,_ her internal monologue points out helpfully. _So cool._

"Tired? What do you mean?"

"Well..." Hitoka tries to imagine the club practice they just had. There were matches, there was Coach Ukai's painful-looking receives training (and the man himself is so smoky, and _so broad -_ ), there was Nishinoya's voice hollering the names of his attacks, there was Kageyama steaming _furiously_ at Takeshi while Takeshi was waving at Hitoka and giving her his silly dimples smile ...

Wait. Back up. Takeshi?

No, not Takeshi, or Takeshi's stupid dimples.

Right there.

"Kageyama has been in a really bad mood lately, hasn't he?" says Hitoka, not entirely sure where she's going with the topic.

Hitoka jumps when a noise like a growl resounds from deep within Hinata's throat.

" _Kageyama_ ," says Hinata, slowly, pulling at the syllables like they're attached to his tongue. "He's slacking off, and he knows it."

Slacking? Hitoka tries to calm her pulsing heart. Kageyama comes early and stays late. Sometimes, _really late_ , and Hitoka gives him the keys to the gymnasium. "Ehh?"

Hinata has started stomping. "His sets stink. He's letting whatever issues he has take over his ability to play. I don't know if they're insecurities or whatever." Every word is punctuated by the sound of his shoes meeting the ground. "He's better than this and he knows it. _He's_ the reason we lost in the first round of the Inter-High."

The Inter-High. Hitoka had been there this year. She doesn't like to think about the game - it tastes like cardboard and thinks blankets are made of sandpaper. Hinata looks like he's been forced to eat sandpaper. Had he been in a good mood when he's not talking to Hitoka?

Hitoka tries to remember yesterday's practice. She remembers the edge of the record book digging into her hand, and how its lines warp from one side to another. Takeshi's smile -- he's always smiling, it's the same smile every day. They ... trained. Stamina training? No, receives. Receives? Dives.

Dives?

"What ...?"

Hitoka raises a hand to her throat. That's her voice, cracking through.

There's a blur of orange.

"Uwaah, please don't cry, Yachi-san!" says Hinata.

 _I'm not crying_ , Hitoka opens her mouth to say, but when she rubs her eyes so the blurry Hinata can go into focus, she can feel tears squashed between her thumbs and the sides of her palms. She realises too late that there's a sickening sensation pooling in the bottom of her chest, emitting a thick smog. Hitoka swallows as anxiety starts creeping its way in.

Tears? When did she --

_What's --_

"What's wrong? Are you sick? Will you be able to get home alright? Yachi-san, should I call someone to help pick you up? Can you --"

He's vibrating. Hitoka's heart is vibrating just as quickly, and she takes several breaths. Slow down. _Please, slow down._ Hinata babbles, hovering from side to side.

Side to side.

Side to ...

"Side," murmurs Hitoka.

Hinata's in her face at once. "Did you say left side? Does something hurt ...?"

"Reverse side." Hitoka weaves her fingers together, hoping they'll stop trembling. She tries to focus on Hinata, but Hinata keeps _shifting_ , so she turns to stare at a streetlamp instead. "Karasuno - we're on the side where our wings are clipped. But, all we did is have a new captain, and the third-years leaving, right?"

"Kageyama says it's 'cause there are six people on a volleyball court."

Hitoka finds herself nodding. It makes sense, since it means half the team is gone. She stops nodding when she replays the words in her head.

"Hinata," says Hitoka. "What about you?"

Hitoka turns around to where she expects Hinata to be when she asks. He's not there. Hitoka keeps turning. Hinata and his bike are five paces behind. The sun has slipped out of sight, the street lamps try to take its place, and Hitoka thinks that Hinata looks very different in the dark.

"What about me?" asks Hinata.

"Why do you think everything is so ... different?"

Hinata's eyes don't blink. "I don't know. The grand king does."

"The ... grand king?"

Who is that again? Tsukishima calls Kageyama 'King', right? Who does Hinata call the 'Grand King' --?

"So," Hinata continues, "it's only a matter of time until I ... get him to ... tell ..."

The sentence trails off and Hinata stiffens. There's a short silence. Hinata starts fidgeting, and then his entire head is swinging from side to side as he looks around.

"Eyeh?" says Hinata.

"Eyeh?" repeats Hitoka.

Hitoka hears the slap first, then realises that Hinata has smacked his face with both hands.

"Gaahh!" exclaims Hinata, then another "Gah!" pops into existence as he hastily moves to stop his bicycle falling, and he groans. "Yachi-san, I'm so sorry!"

"... Eeh?"

"I wasn't paying attention and we missed the intersection --" The words tumble over each other, trip on their way down the steps of his teeth and on their way back up again. Hinata hauls himself onto his bicycle and his bag flops around in his haste. It's very comical, and very surreal. "-- I really, really need to get home now, Natsu is going to get upset if I get back too late, sorry! _Bye!_ "

"B- bye?"

When Hitoka finally has her hand raised in a wave and her senses synced to the real world, she loses sight of the bicycle speeding far, far, far away. Her heart slowly crawls back into its proper position in her chest, not on the floor or in her throat or trying to fly, and she stares blankly at the mess it's left behind in her psyche. Okay. How much did she panic? She panicked so much. It takes a while before she manages to stick all the tiny pieces back together again.

 _Home._ Her obligations tumble back into place. She needs to cook dinner when she gets back. She'll be home late, but she still needs to work on homework and two assignments before going to bed. Thinking about boys is making her stupid, and she _has_ to find a way to stop doing that before tomorrow's training.

Hitoka buries her head. Her forehead presses into something wide, thin and stiff, like a line. The notebooks in her school bag.

 _Being a teenager is hard_ , Hitoka thinks morosely.

"I don't want to die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like genre roulette #romcom #team_drama #edge #stop_hashtagging
> 
>  
> 
> • tajiri takeshi ==> 田尻 剛士 (田 means 'field', same as **ta** naka)  
>     hinata called him tajiri satoshi while trying to remember, last chp -- tajiri satoshi re: pokémon, satoshi is ash, takeshi is brock  
> • yachi is a nerd (elaborate black humour) ==>  
>     [this fish in her waterfall](https://archive.org/details/gyofukuki_dazai) (dazai: 'dead/dying')  
>     [yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tomorrow_and_tomorrow_and_tomorrow) (shakespeare: 'doomed/lost')  
>     [a crow was sitting on a branch of a tree](https://books.google.com.au/books?id=Vft3CAAAQBAJ&pg=PT37&lpg=PT37) (aesop: 'i'm not brilliant/have no foresight')


	5. Spoil-sport (Sweet Devil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ► Spoil-sport ([Sweet Devil](http://vocaloid.wikia.com/wiki/Sweet_Devil))

The videos are playing on Tōru's computer again. Tōru always comes back to it: Karasuno versus Date Tech, the first round of the Inter-High.

The crowd roars at the end of a long rally, when Hinata recovers from a dive receive and immediately gets the third hit in via a slide. Tobio'd created the opportunity with some elaborate feint, diverting attention to the bald wing spiker and faking out the Iron Wall. It had looked like a one-handed set, though isn't. But if Tobio can keep doing that ridiculous float, then he could be capable of anything before graduating. How scary.

Perhaps it's because Tōru is a setter that his eyes are always drawn to Tobio when Karasuno plays. Sure, the captain and Mr. Pleasant had demanded his attention last year, if only because they proved to be more stubborn and more shrewd and more _annoying_ than Tōru had expected, but this year there is nobody more interesting to watch besides Kageyama Tobio. He is the raw talent behind every one of Karasuno's plays -- Hinata Shōyō is a gift, but Tobio is the force that enables the flashy moves Karasuno is remembered for.

"One touch!"

_"I've got it!"_

Karasuno win the next rally. Date Tech get the one after that. Karasuno again.

Tōru tucks his legs beneath his chin. Karasuno's rotation favours their two tallest -- the second-year with glasses and their new first-year wing striker. Date Tech are on their guard after the feint. Two-thirds of the Iron Wall have rotated away and both sides have liberos subbed in. The score reads 12-11 to Karasuno now, and Karasuno's new captain waves an arm to indicate their current advantage. _We've got the lead!_ Tōru fills in for him, the camera too far away to hear the words or read his lips. _Keep up the pressure - this is our chance to break ahead!_

It never happens.

One moment, Tobio has made an ordinary set, the new wing spiker sends it into a block, and then Tobio is annoyed at him. It's actually unclear in the videos, because the inbuilt microphone only picks up loud cheering or the sounds of people in a small radius - all Tōru can see is that Tobio has turned around to face the wing spiker, and the wing spiker laughing a little whilst backing away. A few moments later, Tobio still hasn't moved, and then the referee turns toward the two.

"What's going on Karasuno's side?" A disembodied voice asks.

"Dunno, I just got here," a second voice replies. "I can't tell what Kageyama is shouting about - hey, there's the captain."

The captain has run up to the dispute. He and the referee exchange some words. The captain bows furiously, then turns to talk to his two players. The wing spiker momentarily turns toward the camera and the camera's auto focus gives a view of his mouth that can be read for a second (-- _e-n-pa-i_ ), and then he nods. Tobio stalks back to his position.

Game resumes.

It happens again before the wing spiker moves into the back row. The wing spiker does a clumsy jump, so a spike that should have scored them a point manages to be sent back because it hadn't had enough power. Tobio whirls around, angrily closing the gap, looking like he wants nothing more than to grab the front of the taller boy's shirt. Hinata has switched back on so their libero can be ready to swap in on the next rotation -- Hinata approaches the duo and tries to stop them.

There's a flash of yellow from the referee. Tobio receives a warning for his conduct. The Karasuno coach has gotten to his feet, moved closer. Words are exchanged.

The gallery around the camera engages in speculation of their own.

"Yellow card ..."

"I don't think Tajiri-kun did a proper jump."

"He's injured? " On the field, Tajiri is gesturing to his leg. "No, I think he's just saying he's fine. Date Tech's cheering is so loud ... I can't hear them."

"Oh - Kageyama's getting subbed. Who's his replacement again, Yachi-san?"

"Uhmm," a youthful girl's voice says, as a tawny-haired player walks to the side of the field. "One of the third-years. Kinoshita-san."

Kinoshita and Tobio meet. Reluctantly, Tobio takes his number.

"Is he a setter?"

No, thinks Tōru, because he can see it in Kinoshita's arms. Tōru always looks at the arms. They're how he reads Tobio, a common quirk shared by both senpai and kōhai. There's critical importance to make sure that the body does not reveal any unnecessary signals when playing as setter. When Karasuno subbed in Mr. Pleasant, the lack of expression in his body had warned Tōru that he would be troublesome. When Karasuno subs in Kinoshita --

"No," says Yachi, a second after Tōru, in the tone of the very doomed anticipating a slaughter. "Nishinoya-san does libero sets, but we don't have another setter."

"... Kageyama had better cool down."

14-12 becomes 14-15 within minutes. With Date Tech rolling ahead, Karasuno make some more substitutions. Their pinch server will almost become a permanent fixture. Hinata is traded for another third-year now that they can't utilise his superhumanly quick combo.

"Why are they doing that?"

"Most likely because he's fast without being strong. Hinata's basic plays have improved, but Keishin is hoping to go for height and strength against the Iron Wall."

 _That was the worst move you could have made, Karasuno's coach_ , thinks Tōru. The Iron Wall's best offense is its dispiriting defense. Without an ace to create their own gaps, an approach so standard is not going to work. _But you don't understand Tobio's reasons, and you are seeing desperation now._

Tōru skips through the video. He's seen more than enough variations on Date Tech defeating their opponents by waiting for them to defeat themselves.

"How horrible ..." whispers Yachi, when the players swap sides. Tajiri, Karasuno's captain and Karasuno's libero are doing a three-man comedy act, all they can to keep spirits high.

"You can go down there, Manager-san," says one of the others.

"A ... ah?"

"We're here now, so we can take over the recording. Besides, I imagine the players would appreciate you being there."

There's a shuffle of movement behind the camera. Hinata and Tobio remain sidelined, but they're approached a few moments later by a girl in blue that Tōru presumes is Yachi, the manager.

Hinata is friendly. Tobio pretends not to care.

The first set ends 17-25, and the second set begins.

Tōru's phone flashes alight and he ignores it as it's ringing. He's _busy,_ here. He's already comfortable, melded into his cushion, and he'd spent the whole day withdrawing from his bank of sociable moods. Sasegawa's store is doing well. Business is picking up, and Tōru's feet are sore after standing the entire day.

The ringing stops.

Tōru turns back to the screen and the ringing starts all over again. He's tempted to ignore it -- until he sees the caller ID.

Tōru eyes it balefully. Then he retrieves his phone with a foot, pulls his personality on to where it sits tailor-fit to his body, and decides he may as well humour them.

"Hello, Chibi-chan ~?" says Tōru, playful ruler of the court.

Hinata Shōyō yelps for who knows whatever reason. "Grand king!" he exclaims. "Are you busy?"

 _Yes._ "What is it I can do for my biggest fan?"

"Tell me how we can go back to winning."

Reflexively, Tōru's eyes flicker to the Hinata on the screen. He's talking up at Tobio, fists clenched and standing stiff backed. It reminds Tōru of Iwaizumi, staring at him the same way, eyes twinged warm worry deep within blunt fury as he did his best to keep his aloof mask on. Tōru'd found it flattering enough to his sensibilities that he'd drawn it out before agreeing to stop training for that day.

Tōru laughs because his Iwaizumi is all the way in Tōkyō. "Wow, you're so direct! Who taught you?"

"Taught? You told me you worked it out, didn't you?" Hinata answers, missing the jibe entirely. "Taught ... told? I guess it's Yachi-san that wants to know."

"She's your manager?"

"Yeah."

"She's cute. Give me her number?"

There's no reply at first. The silence on the line is fine. It's what Tōru'd wanted before Hinata called.

Tōru leans back and stretches his legs, admiring the curves made from his ankles down to each of his toes. Iwaizumi would snark at him for it. Iwaizumi only ever leaks his vulnerabilities to Tōru.

"Grand king," says Hinata, "are you okay?"

"Of course I am. Why would I not be?" Tōru wonders what expression Hinata is making.

"You seem kinda down."

"Would I be if a little bird didn't insist on talking to me?"

"I dunno."

The mess of pixels that is Tobio lifts an arm and points away from him, and the orange-tipped blob that is Hinata seems to agree before he stalks to stand as far as he can. Tōru's little storm cloud was rarely so obedient.

The ghost of Iwaizumi leans forward like he's threatening Tōru with a forehead to the nose.

"Well, why don't you give me her number, and I can see what I can do for you," suggests Tōru.

"I'm not giving you her number," says Hinata flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because. I don't want to."

Tōru finds his smirk widening, and throws some more stones. "I didn't realise Chibi-chan had a girlfriend. Here, I thought he was dating the volleyball the whole time!"

"She's not my girlfriend," grumbles Hinata.

In the background, a prepubescent voice exclaims _very_ loudly, "Nī-chan has a girlfriend?!"

Hinata grows distant. "I _don't!"_

Tōru's smirk has encompassed the entire width of his mouth and feels like a broad Cheshire grin. "Then stop being stubborn, Chibi-chan. Give me her number ~"

"No wa--" Hinata yelps again. "Natsu, don't you _dare_ \-- hey, Kā-san! Na--"

Hinata's voice disappears. Well, that's anticlimatic. Tōru still wants to play with him some more.

Idly, Tōru curls his toes to watch them flex, and finds he's still thinking about the concept of Hinata Shōyō having a girlfriend. Huh. Hinata can do whatever he wants, in Tōru's opinion, so long as he doesn't get in the way of whatever Tōru wants to do himself. If that includes doing people, then so be it.

The fingers on Tōru's right hand twitch. Instantly, Tōru brings his left hand down to restrain it, despite being fully aware that he's still on the phone.

There's a loud clunk. A million thoughts click-click-click, shuffling past each other like sliding puzzle pieces, each trying to solve everything around itself. They fight and collide with their siblings for space in Tōru's brain. Iwaizumi's ghost vanishes in the chaos.

The phone slips out of a hand and tumbles to the floor.

Tōru slowly reaches down and recovers it, just as Hinata returns.

"Geez," says Hinata.

Tōru raises his right hand to his temple, his thoughts so loud that he can barely hear him.

Hinata Shōyō groans.

Suddenly, all the thoughts in Tōru's head agree. They taper toward a single image -- Hinata Shōyō, eyes closed, mouth shaped in a yawn. There are streams of calculations dedicated to high definition rendering, down to every strand and every cell. Channels are scanned, selected, instantly discarded, form connections with blinding sparks, distilling paths to manipulate so Tōru can tune reality. His hand clutches at his hair when he thinks about how to carry out an execution -- the taste of victory like thick sweat, and the sight of Hinata Shōyō, arched, neck bared, and willing.

Stop.

Tōru _pulls_. The creature screeches as it's compressed into a tiny square. Only a faint twitch in Tōru's jaw and a buzzing beneath his skin signifies his measure of control.

Hinata is Tobio's teammate. It's not in his best interest.

He _will not_ get involved with Tobio.

The creature lashes at its constraints and an embarrassing noise bubbles out of Tōru's throat. "Seems ..." Tōru says, quickly, to cover the sound, and he takes a sharp breath, "Seems like you have a little girl trouble, Chibi-chan."

"That's my sister, Grand King." The reply is flat. Tōru thinks that Hinata isn't oblivious to innuendo after all. "I told her you were Kageyama's senpai, actually. She really wants you to set for me now."

Isn't oblivious to innuendo? The tone says that _yes_ , Hinata has zero idea what he'd just said. Tōru deliberately doesn't answer to see if Hinata notices the alternative meaning.

"Hey, are you still there?"

Apparently not.

"It sounds like you have yourself a little budding volleyball fan," Tōru remarks.

"Yep!" Tōru can hear him beaming. "She's gonna be the coolest spiker ever."

"Aspiring to go beyond her brother's successes ... what a bold girl." Tōru starts to sigh, sparing a moment to examine his internal situation. The creature says that Tōru should just invite Hinata over for a _study session_ , _teach_ him how to _play._ Tōru's own interests lean harder against the creature's prison. _Patience_ , he tells it. _After we finish, we'll make that call._ The sigh ends and Tōru continues talking. "Don't think your adorable little sister is enough to convince me to set for you, though ~"

"But I already told her you agreed."

"Then tell her that I un-agreed."

"Wow," says Hinata, in the manner of someone imparting the unified wisdom of the collective universe, "Grand King, you're a spoilsport."

Tōru opens his mouth to retort, but Hinata beats him to it: "And I couldn't mention this earlier. _You are never getting Yachi-san's number._ "

The retort vanishes and Tōru stiffens. It's like Hinata's voice drops an octave. It's the whisper of the Other Hinata, it has to be. The one with glowing eyes that could see more, focus more, reach beyond the limitations set by logic and fly higher than anything he's ever shown.

The creature informs Tōru that it's the combined effect of promise and seduction, and invites into Tōru's body the only sensory warmth that Tōru has ever known. 

Tōru's right hand twitches, buried in his hair.

Tōru never cared about Karasuno's manager's number.

"I'm hanging up," says Tōru.

"Wait!"

The creature rumbles impatiently in Tōru's chest. "What."

Hinata doesn't notice how dangerously close he's leaning. "Tell me what Yachi-san wants to know."

"I refuse."

"Whyyyy?"

"I don't care about your team's dramas, Chibi-chan."

"But you paid attention," says Hinata.

"So?"

"So if you don't care, then tell me."

There's an exclamation from the computer, and Tōru looks up to see that the match is still playing and Tobio and Hinata are being subbed back in. Tobio is about to serve. It's late in the second set, and Tobio is still tense. The rest of the players aren't doing any better under Date Tech's heights and hands. It's useless.

"You're watching it," states Hinata, even though he has no way of placing the one generic shout to that specific video in that point of time.

"What are you talking about?" asks Tōru. It's not a lie, just a question.

He wants to close the video. There's no point watching the rest because Tōru already knows how it's going to end.

He can't close the video. Not when Tobio is drawing back, elbows level, kneading the volleyball, legs placed shoulders' width apart. It's a sight that Tōru's seen many times in his mirror. He likes watching the people he inspired do their jump serves, hearing intangible shouts of _Olé!_

Tōru remembers when he first met Tobio, and first saw those large eyes and genuine smiles whenever given an opportunity to play on the court.

"You care about Kageyama, don't you?" says Hinata.

Tobio tosses. It's a good toss. Tōru's favourite.

"Navel-gazing, Chibi-chan."

There are cheers when it's a service ace, the loudest from Karasuno.

Hinata says something on the phone. Tōru isn't paying attention to him -- he's always so deep in concentration that he never notices the crowd, whenever it's time for him to serve. To see an image of himself execute, flawless, so publicly lauded, beckons a layer of satisfaction. The squirreling in his brain slows and relishes it as one.

"--geyama, Grand King."

Tōru has no idea what he's missed, but he knows it's something to do with caring about Tobio.

"Mmm?" says Tōru.

"I knew it," Hinata states. "It has something to do with him."

"What does?"

"The thing that Yachi-san wants to know." Hinata's voice grows shrewd. "Want to tell me the rest of it, Grand King?"

Tōru suppresses the urge to double-take, but it's too late. There's enough of a distraction to shatter his control.

Tōru forces his attention to snap the computer. His hand closes the video. He sees the chat program pulled up. A certain user is online. His fingers fumble across the keyboard by themselves.

_Up for tonight, Angel?_

To hide the sound, Tōru pretends to sigh. "What do you want, Chibi-chan?"

"I want to play volleyball," Hinata replies.

Whatever Tōru expected, it isn't that. Tōru laughs. He laughs harder than he's ever laughed in his life and chokes on all the things he should regret in his life but doesn't care about at all. _My bad, Tobio-chan. Your senpai taught you his frustration instead of how to make the friends you needed, too._

Even Hinata Shōyō cares less about Tobio than his ability to continue playing.

Angel is typing. Will she say yes? She usually says yes. A response beeps into the chat. _Always, Sweet Devil._

Tōru doesn't bother trying to disguise his smile.

"Goodbye, Chibi-chan," says Tōru. Angel is Tōru's favourite, caramel blonde and always receptive to his charm. Because he's feeling generous, he adds, "I wonder if you'll end up having me set someday."

He doesn't expect the reply moments before the line drops dead:

"That means I can get you to agree. See you on Sunday."

Tōru is left with the breath of his heartbeat and the low lullaby of his computer's whirring fan.

 

 

 

 

Sunday is in five days.

On the train, Tōru double-checks his calendar to make sure he's free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ※ right hand ==> see [lyrics](http://vocaloid.wikia.com/wiki/Sweet_Devil#Lyrics), but basically, he's horny


	6. Trophy heart (一番失礼)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ∟ Trophy heart (the most rudest)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> arc closure budget, _like a blu-ray release!!_ ♫

It all started when Takeshi turned up at her desk at lunchtime and said: "Hey, Hitoka-chan. Can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure," Hitoka replied.

So that's how the two of them ended up walking to the gymnasium. Alone. Hitoka, versus Takeshi and his perfectly-ordinary-but-somehow-extraordinarily-cute looks. At the gymnasium. Instead of eating lunch. Alone. 

_S-starting to repeat yourself, Hitoka._

The ground is very interesting, all of a sudden. It's so ... dry. Little cracks and lumps spread about like carpet fuzz, spidering out to the edges of worn concrete and old buildings, disturbed countless times by crossing feet and sweeping wind. She steps past a line of ants that try to dodge her feet. Some of them meander in circles, while the others have found a food source, carrying white specks three times the size of their shiny black shells. They're working hard. _Stay calm!_ Hitoka needs to work just as hard too.

"Why do you need the gym, Takeshi-kun?" Hitoka asks.

"I want to see if there's any basketball stuff in the storeroom that I can borrow." Takeshi replies.

"I don't think we have any."

"I remember seeing some last week." Takeshi turns the last corner. "Hitoka-chan?"

He's stopped, in front of the doors that Hitoka has the key to. He changes his shoes.

"R-right," says Hitoka.

She steps forward and unlocks the hall.

The doors open to a dim expanse, where dust notes glitter in what little rays the sun can sneak inside. It's astonishingly empty with all the equipment gone, and without any spirits to offset the loneliness in the air. No voices fill the space stretching up and out like a temple's hallowed halls. Silent death takes the place of restless energy.

Takeshi runs inside, basketball shoes squeaking heavily across the court. He's already swung open the doors to the storeroom by the time Hitoka finds the strength to follow.

 _It's just a gymnasium_ , she tells herself, turning the lights on. Karasuno High's seven wonders don't include ghosts haunting the gymnasium. The volleyball club plays there all the time and they're fine.

She still takes careful steps over the threshold, joining her hands together above her chest, and silently whispers apologies for the intrusion.

A clock ticks and continues to watch from high on the wall inside its metal cage.

Hitoka tries to suppress the shiver brushing past her spine.

"Uhm, Takeshi-ku --"

"A-ha!"

"... Did you find something?"

"Just this," says Takeshi, closer than Hitoka expects, and he's heading toward her with stars in his eyes and a scratched trophy in his hands. "Look. Look here! Third place in the 22nd National High School Basketball Championships, 1991. We _did_ used to have an active basketball club here, Hitoka-chan! Wow!"

"W-wow," Hitoka agrees weakly. There's a lot of dust on the trophy, and a faint hint of ash. Hitoka hopes that Takeshi hasn't dug a hole and pulled it out of the ground.

"And the _Nationals!_ Karasuno, from this tiny town! Ho, who would have thought we used to be _so strong?_ Forget extra equipment, the bigger mystery is what happened. How did Karasuno become a volleyball school? I can't wait to show this to the others ..."

Hitoka starts. 

"Are you going to take it, Takeshi-kun?"

"I'm gonna have to." There must have been some expression on her face. Takeshi smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hitoka-chan. I'll bring it straight back."

"I don't think ..."

"Ha, it'll be fine! Look at it's condition. No one will even notice it's gone. Only the two of us will know, no?"

Only the two of us.

Hitoka wonders if she can cremate herself to keep the redness in her face at bay. Her mother can reassemble the rest of her from the bones. Surely there has to be something else to focus on aside Takeshi's dimples.

A clock tick, tick, ticks.

Her heartbeat falls in sync.

Tick, tick, tick.

Takeshi steps outside ahead of her.

"Sorry for interrupting your lunch, Hitoka-chan," says Takeshi, in a tiny strip of sunlight. His smile is bright like the sun is bright and the both of them combined hurt Hitoka's eyes. "I'll bring it back ultra soon, so can you still keep this a secret? I don't want Ennoshita-senpai to know. He looks sad whenever I mention basketball."

 

 

 

 

Afternoon practice arrives, and Hitoka doesn't get to think about the gymnasium and the trophy any more.

"Okay!" says Ennoshita. He claps his hands and everyone files in around him. "Coach Ukai is going to be late today. He wants us to work on our serves before he gets here. So, let's go. Are we ready for laps?"

A chorus of affirmation sweeps through the gathering. Nishinoya stops ruthlessly scrubbing Hinata's head and punches the air.

"On forth!" Nishinoya cries, then blazes into action.

Hinata lets out an indignant shout and chases after him. 

Everyone else starts their laps in the opposite direction -- including Kageyama.

"Come on, Tsukki," Hitoka hears Yamaguchi murmur to Tsukishima, nudging him in the side.

"I know," Tsukishima replies blandly. "Unless you would like to leave Fujihara to his fate?"

"Aahh ...?"

Hitoka and Yamaguchi turn around at the same time to see Nishinoya back in the doorway, _still_ with enough energy to buzz at the first-year despite having to field off Hinata at the same time. Nishinoya doesn't seem to realise how pale Fujihara's complexion is growing, and takes the quiet sounds Fujihara is making as permission that he can keep intruding.

(Admittedly, they could have been. Hitoka remembers asking Fujihara to sit down in the first week, but Fujihara had weakly raised an arm and said with as much grace as a squashed frog, "I j-just blanch, easily. You. Shouldn't wo-worry, senpai.")

 _He's dying_ , thinks Hitoka. Fujihara stumbles and Hitoka gets tragic flashbacks of herself. _He's definitely dying_.

Ennoshita asks Tsukishima and Yamaguchi why they're dawdling. Hitoka looks back to see Tsukishima eyeing her from the top of his tower, a soft smirk across his face. It's not the 'did you _really_ think you could get past my guard' sneer that he sometimes wears behind the net, but the other one. The all-knowing one.

"Just kidding," Tsukishima says to Yamaguchi. 

A part of Hitoka goes splat when she realises the smirk means Tsukishima had caught her listening.

 _Please, gods_ , Hitoka prays. _Don't let that splat mean anything._

Serves training goes about as well as it would be expected. Which is to say, everyone lines up, Hitoka makes sure the servers always have a volleyball to reach for, Nishinoya cheers enthusiastically while receiving everything that makes its way to the third-years' side of the net --

\-- and everything is fine until Fujihara sends a volleyball slamming into Kageyama's side.

Nishinoya blinks and freezes. Tanaka doesn't see him, walking backwards as he tries to receive Yamaguchi's erratic float, and trips. Kinoshita somehow lands on the pile up between one moment and the next. Ennoshita hurries across the floor.

In all the chaos, everything stops.

Hitoka doesn't realise she's held her breath until a laugh bubbles from the bottom of the pile. Nishinoya laughs, even as he should by all rights be crushed, and he has such an amazing laugh that Hitoka can't help but smile a little. It's grating and completely obnoxious, yet it's lifted by a cushion of joy, and it's not long until half the room joins him.

"Awesome!" Nishinoya roars, once he's free. He hustles to Fujihara's side. "That was _amazing_ , Fuji! Whoa, that hit would have been so great to receive, now you just need to work on your aim!"

Fujihara, corpse-white, clasps his hands over his mouth and looks like wants to sink into the floor. "I- I- I- I -- Ka, Kageyama-senpai! I'm so sorry! Please forgive --"

"Alright, let's not get too worked up," says Ennoshita. "Fujihara-kun, try to relax. Kageyama, are you doing --"

Kageyama makes a noise that sounds like a yes, leans down to pick up a volleyball, and pointedly walks into a corner with his eyes shadowed by his brows.

"... alright," Ennoshita finishes. He looks at the time. "It's about time for a five minute break. Yachi-san, could you get everyone some water?"

"Y-yes!" says Hitoka.

The sight Hitoka returns to is of everyone gathering on one half of the room and Kageyama tossing to himself on the other. Hitoka heads for the group because they're closer to the doorway.

Nishinoya is saying something, gesturing animatedly at Fujihara.

"-- and so I totally realised no woman left in this school can ever match up to her grace --" It doesn't take long to realise Nishinoya is making the sparkly-eyed face he reserves for Shimizu-senpai.

Hitoka must have wilted a little when handing water to Tsukishima because his eyes flicker for a moment before squinting in a (very vaguely) softening manner.

"Thanks," he says.

"N- no problem," says Hitoka. Tsukishima is _so terrifying_ to stand next to, and his moods are _so weird_. She's nothing but a little bug under examination then given enough mercy to live another day.

When Yamaguchi receives his, he's giving a small glance at Tsukishima before he turns to Hitoka. "Thank you, Yachi-san."

"Y- you're welcome."

Yamaguchi smiles at her and goes back to his conversation.

Nishinoya is still talking. "-- just gonna try and make memories. Be the coolest senpai and support the team! Making sure there'll always be a ball to hit back -- _that's_ what being a libero is about, Fuji-kun." Nishinoya spots Hitoka heading for him and his entire body moves. Hitoka's heart flees her chest in fear that he's aiming for a jumping double high-five, but Nishinoya is simply holding his arms out for water. "Nice, Yachi! You're the best. _Sankyū!"_

As Hitoka hands a drink to Hinata, her heart whispers _look at that sunshine_ as it slinks back in. Nishinoya's grin, _You're the best._ Hitoka doesn't ever remember Nishinoya being that eager sort of earnest with Shimizu-senpai, just admiring.

Everyone is so huge and intimidating but they're making an effort to be nice. It's difficult to hide her excited flutter.

The flutter disappears into nothingness when she realises she has one drink left, and Kageyama is the last one she needs to deliver it to.

He's sitting cross-legged, facing the wall, head and shoulders tilted back as he tosses to himself. There's a scary glare on his face and his eyes are fixed on the ball. Everything else is so still that it doesn't look like he's breathing.

Hitoka swallows her apprehension and crosses the court.

"K- Kageyama ...?" she says.

The ball falls away. Kageyama stares. It's a long and tense moment before Hitoka realises that he's waiting for her to speak, not contemplating the easiest way to skewer her.

Hitoka proffers the bottle as a peace offering nonetheless. "W-water?"

Kageyama stares at it. A clock is right above them, tick tick tick. Hitoka can hear her heartbeat, do _-ki_ do _-ki_. A minute passes.

A hand reaches out for the water and Hitoka gives it to him.

"Are you mad?" blurts Hitoka, before she can stop herself asking.

Kageyama blinks, thin lips curled around the mouth of the bottle. Despite the blankness in his expression, he keeps drinking.

"..." Hitoka tries not to fidget.

"..."

Kageyama finally puts the bottle down and proclaims: "Hnn."

 _Ehh?_ "Kageyama-kun?"

"... I don't know."

"Well ..." What is Hitoka meant to do with that? "Are you hurt? The volleyball was going pretty fast ..."

"'m fine," says Kageyama in the stubborn tone he uses when he and Hinata race each other, and they're trying to decide who wins. It's a little foreign - Hitoka hasn't seen them race each other in a while.

"Kageyama-kun."

Kageyama pointedly avoids her gaze. "It doesn't hurt."

"Is it going to bruise?" Hitoka pushes.

Kageyama turns around and stretches an arm out for the volleyball, which had rolled to Hitoka's feet. Swiftly, Hitoka ducks down and scoops it up before him.

Then Hitoka panics because she's realised what she's done and Kageyama is _glaring_.

"Give it to --"

Kageyama stops. Hitoka doesn't miss the small wince. She tucks the volleyball under one arm. 

Hitoka realises that, at this moment, she's taller than Kageyama because he's sitting down.

 _Woah._ Totally surreal.

"I'm getting ice," says Hitoka, softly but firmly. "Don't move, o-okay?"

Kageyama stills, in that half-leaning position, and Hitoka decides it's probably the best concession she's going to get out of him. Hitoka lets her worry turn into slight irritation, because otherwise she'll start thinking of how built he is beneath his shirt, and how surprisingly docile he appears when viewed from above - some effect of the silhouette of his hair and shape of his skull and his long, long eyelashes --

Hitoka bites her lip. _Boys are stupid._

She returns with the ice and Kageyama is sitting upright again. He accepts it wordlessly. The drink bottle is handed back.

Kageyama eyes the court and presses the ice to his side.

"Just a bruise," he says finally, when it's clear that Hitoka didn't have plans of leaving.

"A ... ah," says Hitoka. She's still drawing her plans herself. Wait, volleyballs aren't _that_ tough at _those_ sorts of distances --

Hitoka blanches. "Fujihara-kun is strong."

Kageyama makes a noise of agreement. "Then there's that ..." 

Kageyama's mouth moves without making a sound. _That what?_ thinks Hitoka. Kageyama is avoiding her gaze. Is it scary? Should Hitoka be terrified that such a weak-looking first year can send a volleyball flying at dangerously high speeds? What could have Kageyama scared into awkward silence --

It takes several hasty glances before Hitoka realises he's trying not to say the word 'ass'.

"K- Kageyama-kun," says Hitoka, "Fujihara-kun is --" 

"Not Fujihara. He's ... improving. He should be in the lineup instead of Tajiri. Tajiri is ..." Another pause. Never mind that Hitoka's heard ruder things in the vicinity of his potty mouth before. "... Bad."

Hitoka's brain helpfully supplies 'absolute shit'.

"R ... Really," says Hitoka.

Kageyama's face squashes in concentration, and Hitoka is fairly certain that his logical cortex is struggling to make words against what his instincts are trying to tell him. "Yes. His plays are weak because he's weak. He doesn't deserve to stand on the court."

A loud slamming sound punctuates the statement, except Kageyama hasn't moved. Hitoka jolts so sharply that she almost drops what she's holding. Tentatively, she turns toward the noise.

Tanaka has slammed his foot against the floor and is cracking his knuckles at Tsukishima.

"Hey, four-eyes," he shouts. "You wanna fight? Is that what you want?"

Nishinoya is flanking the other third-year, body inclined low to the ground. "It's unlike you to get so dangerously stupid, you know?!"

Tsukishima says something, eyebrows arched and chin bobbing in superiority.

Ennoshita descends.

"Explain."

What ensues is a literal finger pointing game as all sides indicate something unsavoury about the other. Hitoka moves closer.

"-- simply stating facts," says Tsukishima. "After all, placement on the roster is about height or connections." That statement is accompanied by a glance between Hinata and Kageyama, meaningful in its brevity. "One would have to wonder why you're so defensive."

Nishinoya bristles.

"What crawled up and died?" he says. "Chikara's --"

"Right here," Ennoshita cuts in. "Yū. Breathe out for three seconds."

"Shouldn't you let him talk for himself?" adds Tsukishima, in what has to be the most calculated haughty tone that Hitoka has ever heard. It occurs to her that Tsukishima has been goading them. Why is Tsukishima goading them? They're a team, right?

Right?

Hitoka stops next to Yamaguchi, who is embarrasedly avoiding everyone's gaze. Fujihara is a few steps in front of her, moving incredibly slowly.

"What happened?" asks Hitoka.

Fujihara's face cycles through a dozen shades of purple. "I-- I said I wanted to learn how to be a libero."

 

 

 

 

"... All three of you should know better," Ennoshita finishes.

The doors slam shut in front of three disgruntled faces, and Ennoshita pats his hands like he's cleansing himself of filth and grime.

Hitoka's seen sequences like these on television and had no idea they could be real.

There's a knock. Ennoshita pauses contemplatively, making that face where he raises his eyebrows with his eyes all narrowed.

"Do you think that's long enough for them to sweat?" Ennoshita says aloud.

"M ... maybe?" says Hitoka.

Ennoshita looks at her. His eyebrows shift like he hadn't expected an answer.

"We'll see," says Ennoshita.

He opens the door and a demonic shadow looms over the threshold. Hitoka's shriek lumps awkwardly in her throat when she realises it's just Coach Ukai.

Oh.

Coach Ukai glances behind him. "Evening," he greets. "Tanaka, Nishinoya and Tsukishima are milling around out there, what's happening?"

"I sent them out," says Ennoshita, deadpan.

"Huh?"

"They got into a fight."

Coach Ukai grimaces, then enters the gymnasium. He spots Kageyama and his ice pack near the far corner instantly, and looks around at the small groups of one or two people all minding their own business in different corners of the room. Volleyballs from serve practice are still freckled across the floor, squatting like dozens of little pimples. Hitoka needs to tidy them.

Hitoka spots Hinata through the net, balancing a volleyball atop his head. He's staring at Kageyama even though Kageyama is holding the ice pack and determinedly glaring at the wall.

"Did Kageyama get injured?" asks Coach Ukai.

Ennoshita looks at Hitoka. Coach Ukai's smoky eyes settle atop Hitoka too. Under two very powerful and expectant gazes, Hitoka swallows.

"F- Fujihara-kun has a very powerful serve," says Hitoka. "Aside from that, Kageyama-kun seems to be fine."

"At least physically," says Coach Ukai. " _Aagh_ , this is a real mess."

Hitoka sees Yamaguchi on his toes, peering through the windows on the wall, mouth pinched in concern.

"First Kageyama, now Tsukishima too. What else can we do?" Ennoshita asks.

"You tell me, captain. I'm just here to guide your training." Coach Ukai leans down and picks up a volleyball that's beside him. "But ... if Kageyama's going to keep this tension up, we'll have no choice but to bring someone else in as setter."

 

 

 

 

"Hey."

Hitoka stiffens. Slowly, she turns around, in jerky movements much like a wind-up doll. "H-h- h - yes, Coach Ukai?"

Coach Ukai leans down to her level. Hitoka's fingers clutch the ball that she has in her hands, the only shield between herself and Coach Ukai's body, and hopes he can't tell that her internal monologue is spinning on the end of an elastic band that's escaping infinitely faster than she can reel it back in.

"Can I give you an assignment?" he asks.

Hitoka squeaks. "S- sure."

"It's about Kageyama."

"Ah ...?"

"I don't think we'll ..." Coach Ukai glances at Ennoshita, who is talking with a Takeshi that just arrived. 

"Well," says Coach Ukai, turning back to her. "Could you work out what's wrong with Kageyama?"

Hitoka's insides shift because she suddenly has an idea why Coach Ukai decided to find her alone. 

"He said me something when I went to."

Coach Ukai pauses. "Hah?"

Hitoka's face goes hot. "He told me something. Earlier. When I went to him."

"What'd he say?"

"Um ... Take- Tajiri-kun is a --" Hitoka's ears start steaming when she realises she's about to say _ass_. "-- aaah, too weak to stand on the court. He ... doesn't deserve it?"

Coach Ukai draws back to his full height. Hitoka has never thought breathing to be such a luxury before.

"Weak, huh?" says Coach Ukai, contemplatively. He extends a hand for the volleyball that Hitoka has, and Hitoka hands it across numbly. It's fiddled with between hypnotic hands; Hitoka watches it as it twirls and twirls and twirls and --

"What position did you play?" Hitoka says, before she can stop her mouth moving.

The twirling stops. "Me?"

"Y... yes!"

"Setter." 

"What is it like?"

"Hmm." The twirling returns. "Steering."

Hitoka squeaks. "S- Steering?"

"Do you know what it means to be a lynchpin?"

"I ... I've never been anything except Townsperson B, before this," says Hitoka.

Coach Ukai blinks. "Townsperson ... okay. Background characters. Sure. It's not too different. The heroes might only need a quick stop, but wouldn't you say the people in the town care about Townsperson B, and Townsperson B cares for them back?"

"I guess," says Hitoka.

"What if Townsperson B didn't know the area well enough to give the heroes directions for their quest?"

"Then ... then there would be no story?"

"Right. It's like that."

"Eh?"

"People only remember Aces, but they don't realise there's a unity working behind them. How many hits are allowed on each side of the net?"

"Th - three?"

"Yeah. Ideally, the setter always gets the second. No matter what, he's where the game revolves. So he's the most aware of the town, and all the passing players - he impacts everyone and everyone impacts him. He'll assess everything in play and give the rest of the players a clearer path for their ball."

"Clearing paths ..." 

Hitoka looks at Kageyama. Kageyama's legs are together, and his forehead rests atop his knees.

"He can't see his path, can he?" Hitoka asks.

Coach Ukai shifts. In an easy motion, he flips the ball into the cart. It somersaults with barely a flourish. Are all setters so smart? He looks like a demon but sounds a little like Takeda-sensei.

Hitoka feels like she finally understands what it is that Coach Ukai does for the rest of the team.

"I can't tell you, and neither can his captain," says Coach Ukai. "But he talks to you, so, that's why we need your help, Manager-san. Some of these heroes need help getting places on their own."

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, thinks Hitoka, talking to Kageyama is like willingly signing up to play charades with a falcon. Not that she's seen any falcons recently. There aren't a lot of peregrine in residential areas, aside from yesterday's reruns of that one romantic drama where the love interest pursued traditional Japanese falconry. But sometimes she's a tiny crow and Kageyama's feathers moult from black to reveal majestic golden bars, and any intelligent crow knows not to disturb a falcon's nest lest the hunter decide it's hungry --

"K - Kageyama-kun?" says Hitoka, tentatively.

Kageyama's eyes are on her in an instant, so fast that Hitoka hadn't even seen him move his head toward her.

Hitoka blinks.

Kageyama doesn't.

 _Should I keep talking?_ Hitoka wants to ask. Her heart has fled to seek shelter in her skull, and it's ringing with the sound of her heartbeat. Or should she wait until he speaks, whenever that's going to be? Who knows if it's today or tomorrow or --

"What," says Kageyama flatly.

Hitoka wants to sink into the ground. "I ... um ..."

Kageyama hasn't blinked yet.

"... are you done with the ice pack?"

"Hn? Oh." An arm moves. It bestows upon her a lump that looks like a carcass. "Here."

"T ... thank you, Kageyama-kun."

There's no response. Kageyama stands and draws himself to his full height. Hitoka'd gotten so used to his seated silhouette that seeing him stretch sends jolts of terror through her bones. What a big wingspan. _Huge._

Kageyama's eyes watch her from that full height and Hitoka's questions disappear.

"Please don't eat me," she squeaks. 

Cloudy confusion causes Kageyama to blink. He squints at her, but a _swoosh_ of air billows past their ears, and --

Hinata straightens from his landing, having dashed between them.

Relief blows away Hitoka's tension and she sags when Kageyama's eyes flick to examine the intruder.

"Oi, Kageyama," says Hinata. "Give me a toss."

Kageyama scowls. "Haah?"

"Just do it."

"Are you taking back what you said?"

"No. You're still as much of a King as you were at the Inter-High."

"I'm not tossing to you."

"Everyone on our side of the court is an ally."

The pressure rolling off Kageyama thickens. Wispy smoke becomes impenetrable black fog.

"... Kch."

Hinata makes an expression that someone, somewhere, would have technically classified as a smile, but is so tainted by the fiery pressure he's returning that Hitoka thinks it can't possibly ever be considered a smile on its own.

Weakly, Hitoka raises a hand. "U- uh."

Hinata's head swivels. In the span of a blink, Hinata beams and the fire is gone. "Yachi-san! When did you get here?"

"I ... was always here?"

"Wow, really?" When Hitoka nods, Hinata pumps his fists. "Cool! So hey, can you throw Kageyama a ball?"

"What," says the Kageyama on her right.

"Do it, do it," enthuses the Hinata on her left.

Hitoka looks between them, where the corona of Hinata's good mood ruthlessly sears away the seeping tendrils of Kageyama's irritation, and starts backing away. It just so happens that she walks into the cart of volleyballs and nearly falls inside.

Hitoka yelps.

"It'll be fine," says Hinata, endearment blinding even though Kageyama is glowering in the background. "I trust him."

"Trust ...?" says Hitoka. The word is fire and ice against her tongue. 

"Trust," repeats Hinata, with a slight nod. He pulls a face and adds, "well, with volleyball, anyway."

Slowly, Hitoka turns to gauge Kageyama's reaction. Kageyama has his expression all squished, and when he spots her staring, he quickly looks away. Hitoka pauses. Had that been a faint flush there? Wait, what? _Is Kageyama even capable of flushing?_

 _More importantly_ , points out the tiny, sane voice in Hitoka's head that makes sense all the time and sounds suspiciously like her mother, _Kageyama's killing intent is gone._

That, more than anything, leads to her decision.

"Okay," says Hitoka. Hinata makes an elated jerking spinning motion before throwing his arms in the air, the shifting of his muscles faintly noticeable beneath his shirt. Hitoka closes her eyes to avoid going cross-eyed. Her heartbeat trills with the sound of bells. She shakes her head to shoo away the image that Hinata had been casting a bird.

Carefully, she turns to fetch a volleyball.

Hitoka fumbles the throw. 

It doesn't matter. Kageyama's eyes have already flicked up to the ball, and his legs have taken him under the foot of its arc, so quickly that he must have done it all unconsciously -- seeing the movement, knowing that _this ball is for me_ , all putting him into position no matter the qualms he may have been thinking. A flash illuminates Hinata's expression and he crosses the floor in synchronised motion. Volleyball shoes squeak. An orange blur launches.

The ball impacts the boards and a thunderclap echoes within the gymnasium's sacred halls.

And for a moment, there is nothing but silence.

Hinata whoops with the force of a god. "One more!"

"Hey, you --" says Kageyama, and he whirls around.

"Wasn't that _awesome_?"

"Super!" shouts Takeshi, through cupped hands at the other end of the room.

Kageyama's mood darkens.

As Takeshi runs closer to the action, and he exchanges _woaah! schoom!!_ exclamations with Hinata, Kageyama starts to walk away. Hinata's eyes have snapped to Kageyama even before he's moved.

Hinata motions to Hitoka again.

"Throw another," says Hinata.

"Why?" says Kageyama, without turning around. "I already tossed for you."

"A non-float."

Hitoka holds her breath.

"... Fine."

Hinata jumps into the air. _"Woo!"_

When Hitoka throws Kageyama a second ball, she sees resignation in his expression in the instant before it's replaced by concentration. The ball soars on invisible wings and keeps soaring -- Hinata flies and tackles it to the ground in a gust of sparks and determination.

"Oh," says Hinata.

"Done?" Kageyama demands.

Staring past the net at where the ball landed, Hinata is still.

"You're upset," he says.

A vein pulses on Kageyama's head. "What gave it away, dumbass?"

"I think ..." Hinata trails off. He looks back. "'kay. Mmm. I'll see you later. Thanks for the help, Yachi-san."

"No-- No problem, Hinata!"

Hinata smiles and electricity blooms. "Call me when you're leaving."

Without any explanation, Hinata returns the volleyballs he'd spiked back to the cart, and then dashes out the door.

Hitoka doesn't get a chance to dwell on the thought that _Did Hinata just leave_ when there's a shift of movement closer to her.

"Kageyama-kun ...?"

Kageyama is bowing.

"Thanks ... for the throw," he says, with some difficulty. "I'm going home."

"A - ah, no problem," says Hitoka. She hesitates, then adds, "If ... if you're sick, I hope you feel better."

Kageyama makes a noise that could have either been affirmative or a sign that he does in fact have a cold. Both of them turn around at the sound of footsteps and a loud exclamation of "Hitoka-chan!", except where Hitoka is turning toward Takeshi, Kageyama is turning away.

"He's not special," says Kageyama so quietly that Hitoka doubts what she's heard.

By the time Takeshi reaches Hitoka and gushes, "Wow, isn't volleyball fun? Imagine if I could do that someday!", Kageyama is already gone.

 

 

 

 

As far as Hitoka understands, Takeshi is a basketball prodigy the way that Kageyama is an amazing setter. Or so Takeda-sensei'd said after noticing her confusion, attempting to pass on the bare-bones explanation from one non-sporty mind to another. Having spent most of his life playing basketball, Takeshi was so good that he alone managed to revolutionise his and Ennoshita's team in junior high. All without being technical like Sugawara, or having a technical coach like the Ukais - entirely self-taught, combining instincts and experience together on his own. A switch to volleyball shouldn't impact his talent. It's logical that Tajiri Takeshi would be the perfect player: gifted with height, reflexes and vertical.

Except Takeshi makes a lot of random errors in volleyball.

Sometimes he breaks the no ball-hold rule. Sometimes he forgets he's not allowed to hit certain attacks from the back row. Occasionally, there's a double-touch. He's never made more than two mistakes in a match, though there's a fifty-fifty guarantee that he'll make at least one.

But he's just switched sports. Everyone makes mistakes.

Surely, there has to be some other reason that Kageyama seems to really, really, really, really, _really_ dislike him.

The streets are as silent as they always are, so late at night, save for a faint singing breeze and the soft creaking of Hinata's bicycle.

"Hinata," says Hitoka.

Hinata perks up, his hair the brightest fire in the depressing dark and gloom. "What's up, Yachi-san?"

Hitoka opens her mouth to ask, _Do you know why Kageyama is mad?_ , but the words fall short of her lips when she sees the teenager walking beside her. No, not teenager. The streetlamps are doing a silly thing with their sideways lights and their sideways shadows. The muscles that Hitoka thought she saw in the gymnasium are now defined. Hinata's starting to broaden. He's turning into a young man.

A young man that had gotten upset at Kageyama and had tried to burn him with the force of his gaze alone.

The last time Hitoka saw a falcon in real life was on a trip to the nearby mountains about two years ago. There'd been a bird fight - broken feathers and ripped flesh and frantic beating-wings and blood. Falcons preyed on other birds. Hitoka learnt why a falcon wouldn't dare to mess with a strong enough scavenger -- especially if it had a reason to hold a vendetta.

Hinata cocks his head, waiting for a reply. 

"I ... I was wondering what you were doing," says Hitoka instead.

"Do what?"

"I had to call you."

"Oh. I wanted to check something."

"Did you go somewhere?"

Hinata turns around. Wordlessly, he points to the faint shadow of one of the mountains peeking over the tops of the buildings in the street they'd passed earlier. If Hitoka projects their location ... it's the mountain which directly overlooks Karasuno High School.

 _Oh._ Oh my.

"It wasn't that far," says Hinata, obviously reading the look on her face for what it is. "I just needed to think about Kageyama's tosses for a while."

"E- eh ... I see ..."

_I don't understand anything at all!_

Hinata's smile is so radiant that Hitoka instantly feels her stomach clench. Maybe she should have continued being confused.

It's when Hitoka passes a certain shopfront and realises Hinata's footsteps are still accompanying her that she lets her panic appear.

"Hinata," says Hitoka, slowly. "You -- haa? _Aaarrrrhhghhhhhhh_."

Hinata blinks. "Arrrhhhg? No, are you? Gwaah."

"Errr ...?" Hitoka flounders for her vocabulary. "I mean, this is my bus stop here, we missed the intersection ages ago! I'm sorry, I didn't realise --"

"It's okay."

"-- I should have ... gah?"

Hinata keeps smiling. "I kind of wanted to walk you home anyway. Tsukishima was looking at you funny. I think he's up to something."

"Tsukishima-kun?" Hitoka bites her lip. "He was just being himself ..."

She trails off. Being himself? Her vision shifts a little, and she isn't quite sure if it's because the streetlamps flickered or if some subconscious realisation clicked.

There's something ... something ... really ...

Hitoka swallows the build-up of saliva in her mouth. She thinks of ghost stories and a battered basketball trophy in the _equipment room_ and the tension inside the Karasuno Volleyball Club and Coach Ukai feeling like he has no choice but to turn to _her!_ Asking _her!_ And Kageyama's falcon-ness, what's with that? Kageyama is a fellow Karasuno crow. 

Could it just be her hormones? It can't be. Can it?

Everything has been _so weird._

Especially the weirdest element standing right in front of her, because Hinata Shōyō _never_ leaves early from volleyball.

"H ... Hinata."

Hinata turns around and peers at her so normally that he's the only human breathing against a photo collage world.

"Hmm?" Hinata prompts.

"Are you ... okay? Nothing's changed ...?"

"Yup. Same as always."

That answer has the odd detachment that asking Hinata _anything_ emotionally self-reflective gets her normally. Hitoka hesitates.

"... I'm just imagining things."

Is it also Hitoka's imagination when Hinata's gaze sharpens?

"What about you, Yachi-san?" says Hinata.

"Wh - what about me?"

"Did Tsukishima do anything to you? Or was it Kageyama-bastard, when I wasn't around? I should have _known_ that he --"

"No, no!" Hitoka waves furiously. "I just ... something feels different. Maybe it's just change."

"Maybe," Hinata agrees.

"B-but, you don't have to come all this way. Natsu would get worried, right?"

Hinata stares down at his bicycle. He's silent for a long time.

"Shimizu-senpai asked me to look after you."

Sh --

" _Shimizu-senpai?!_ "

A small nod. "Before she graduated, she ... thanked me. For finding you, Yachi-san. She's really happy now. She said that, no matter what happens, the club will be safe in Yachi-san's hands."

Hitoka's entire face explodes into heat and warmth. Her head is spinning and she buries her cheeks in her hands, hoping for it to calm down. 

"I-- I- I - I see."

"So Yachi-san _is_ still doubting," says Hinata. 

"... A bit. Everything feels like a dream and I'm still sleeping."

"Sleeping, ah ... about everyone being tired ..." Hinata shifts awkwardly. "I found out what's wrong. The grand king told me it's all to do with Kageyama's problems."

The memory of Hinata proclaiming his trust in Kageyama floats into Hitoka's mind.

"Is that why you went, and did all -- all of _that_ this afternoon ...?"

Another pause. "Y - yeah." Hinata laughs with stiff shoulders. He climbs onto his bicycle and Hitoka gets the sense that he doesn't want her to see his face. What's so embarrassing? Hitoka doesn't understand.

When Hinata speaks, it's so softly that Hitoka nearly misses it. "Must be weird, huh?"

"What is, Hinata?"

Hinata makes an arm gesture that could have meant anything from 'the shirt I'm wearing' to 'the meaning of the universe'.

"This," he says.

He turns around and meets her eyes. Hitoka doesn't know what she's expecting when she stares back. His expression, and his face, and his eyes are --

Completely, absolutely, entirely objectively _normal_.

"Hinata?" says Hitoka, more cautiously than she would have liked. "What am I looking at?"

"Me. I'm short."

"For volleyball?"

"Yup."

"That doesn't matter, right? Y- you can jump, a- and you're like, _zoom_ , _graaaawrh_ , swoop-sh!"

Hitoka is waving her arms around now.

Hinata tilts his head back and stares at the sky. 

" _Swooosh_ ," he whispers.

 _Swooosh_ , Hitoka repeats in her head.

A wind picks up as if it's summoned, and Hitoka puts an arm to her face so nothing flies into her eyes. She shouldn't have worried. It's a gentle breeze. It wraps around them in an embrace, kisses their face, and bids them good night as it trails away.

Hinata laughs, the sound a universe apart from the one he'd given weakly a handful of time ago.

"I hate when Kageyama thinks his opinion matters the most," he says. "The winner is whoever stays on the court. He talks about a team of six, but he ... he's not doing that. 

"I want to see the summit," says Hinata, in the voice he reserves for the court, calling for another set to be sent his way. It's eerie in the air of the night, fiery and blazing. It's the displacement and slight regret whenever Hitoka arrives at the bus stop and realises that she'd left her workbook in the classroom again and it's too late to go back without causing extra worry, and Hinata has long cycled away.

"Thanks, Yachi-san," says Hinata, interrupting her thoughts. "You're the best."

Hitoka drags herself back to the present.

"Y - you're welcome, Hinata. See you tomorrow."

"Right!" Hinata flashes her a thumbs-up. "I'll fix Karasuno. Then you won't have to worry any more, okay?"

He leaves in a sweep of wings and wind.

Hitoka hopes the chilly air can diffuse the redness in her face a little faster, and wonders if she'd imagined a flash of white teeth in a feral grin.

 

 

 

 

"Coach! Ennoshita-san!"

Hitoka discovers it's a very bad idea to stop with six barely co-operating volleyballs balancing in her arms, because two of them leap from her grasp and start to roll.

"What is it, Hinata?" Ennoshita asks.

Hitoka dumps what volleyballs she still has into the cart and chases the others past Tsukishima.

"I want to be wing spiker."

Tsukishima jolts.

Suddenly, everyone in the room has their complete attention on Hinata's conversation.

"What?" says Coach Ukai. He furrows his brow. "How are you going to do that, squirt?"

"I can jump."

Hitoka's face catches on fire when she hears her words out of Hinata's mouth. _Please don't cite me._

"Is jumping really going to be enough?" says Coach Ukai. "It's not as simple as switching positions. Your skill set will barely map across as it is. There are less quicks, so you can't rely on taking opponents by surprise. You'll be expected to play the full six-position rotation, so you need to be solid, front row and back row. The team expects you to make points and protect the ball and the enemy is expecting every ball to go in your direction."

With every remark, Hinata's face has grown a little pale.

"T -- triple block."

Coach Ukai nods. "Triple block."

The muscles in Hinata's jaw tighten. "The Little Giant could break it."

"You're not him. Frankly, I don't think you have the upper body strength. You're best suited for --"

"I'll open a path from the summit."

"Can you reach the summit without being caught?"

Hinata's eyes flash. "I proved I could do the new attack last year."

"You ... proved ..." Coach Ukai chokes on the word. He jumps back like he's been burnt, and sweat starts to form. Hitoka's never seen a grown man look so nervous.

Hitoka is keenly aware of how tense the atmosphere is. It's hard to breathe.

"I proved it last time," pushes Hinata, with electric intensity, sucking away the air around him.

A quick glance around the room. Nobody knows what 'last time' means either.

"Let me switch to wing spiker."

"The Spring Nationals are very soon."

"We have the Tōkyō away games. I'll learn how to play."

Coach Ukai's lips pull back from his teeth. "And our existing lineup? Who'll take your place?"

"I don't know. But I'll get so good that one of the two wing spikers has to be me."

Hitoka reads the message. 

_I'll fight Tanaka and Tajiri. **And I will win.**_

"Wouldn't you think it's worth considering?" says Tsukishima, voice like silk, eyeing Kageyama _too_ casually. "Our team harmony is in such a wonderful state."

Kageyama twitches.

Yamaguchi's head snaps toward Tsukishima.

"Ah."

Hitoka doesn't register the speaker because Takeshi's spine goes very straight, and his arms tense very stiffly.

A flutter of wings.

\-- a crow lands on the windowsill of the open window. Click. Click. Its feet click against the metal frame.

Hitoka's stomach is churning so much that she wants to die.

"So," says Coach Ukai, thoughtfully.

Hinata perks up. The air returns and the tension is gone.

"Don't give me that look," Coach Ukai mutters, rubbing his head. "Sheesh, Hinata. Every time you get taken off the court, you come up with something new to get back on it again. If it works, then ... alright. I'm willing to treat you like a wing spiker during training. But," he grins, "for all the team matches at the training camp, you'll be six-rotation middle, so we don't give the surprise away. In the time you have, show me why I should pick you for the Spring roster."

Hinata draws himself to his full height. His hair quivers and it, too, valiantly attempts to stand a little straighter.

"Y- yes!" he exclaims. "I will! Thank you! I --"

"What happens to me?" says Takeshi. He's frowning. "I want to play too."

There's a movement. Tsukishima tilts his head and shifts so slowly and deliberately that Hitoka's stomach starts sinking. She remembers those movements. This is the moment Tsukishima has been waiting for.

Takeshi stiffens at such open hostility.

"Are you sure?" says Tsukishima. "I find that funny given how often you turn up to practice, Tardyman."

"I haven't missed a single practice session," says Takeshi. "Ennoshita-senpai and Coach both agreed that I can arrive later. The basketball club needs assistance and nobody else is giving it."

"Such a busy schedule you have. Any other person may have quit. Amazing."

Kageyama twitches again. Hitoka has heard of it, but she's never really shared the idea that he's unable to read the air. She wonders if his inability to follow it is because he's allergic to passive aggression.

"Quit? Really. But if the roster is full here, then ..."

There's a blur of black and Takeshi narrowly dodges Kageyama's fist soaring towards him.

"Stop thinking you'll always have a place on the court," says Kageyama. "I've stopped caring about your potential. You piss me off the most."

A muscle twitches beneath Takeshi's eye. "... Kageyama-senpai. Please forgive my following remarks. With all respect, you are the most rudest, --"

Hitoka's eyes widen even as her heart rolls in on itself and her concentration starts to narrow. _Why does that phrase seem familiar ..._

"-- elitist sportsperson I have ever met. A setter should bring out the rest of his team." _And you are failing_. Takeshi turns. "And, Tsukishima-senpai. Don't say that I don't give enough time. I do. Can you believe everyone is like this, Ennoshita-senpai? All this influence is corrupting Hitoka-chan and nobody here knows what it means to have fun."

Ennoshita opens his mouth, but there's only silence.

The crow in the window jumps to the ground.

Slowly, very slowly, as if he'd just walked out of a gangster flick playing at 0.25x speed, Tanaka slinks forward with a shadow perched between his eyes.

"Hey, sporty-boy," draws Tanaka. He leans into Takeshi's space and slings an arm around his shoulders. "I'd wondered why I didn't like you much. You don't play to win, do you?"

"Of course I do," says Takeshi.

"Do you want it so much that you'll play thirty games and run thirty times up a hill and still have the will to train more volleyball afterwards in the same day, _huh?"_

A breath, then a falter.

Tanaka claps his shoulder solemnly. "Don't feel bad. Our esteemed captain over here had to learn painful glory on his own."

"Tanaka," hisses Ennoshita.

"But hey," Tanaka continues, showing no sign he's noticed Ennoshita at all, "you can do whatever it is that you --"

" _Tanaka._ "

Tanaka stops. He finally notices that Takeshi is shaking.

"You ..." Takeshi takes a deep breath. "You're mad. You can't spend that long on -- _sport shouldn't be --_ " Takeshi's head snaps out and he searches for someone. "Noya! Don't you -- don't you play because volleyball is fun?"

"I do!" Nishinoya enthuses. He flexes his arms. Purple smudges shift as his skin moves, a collection of new bruises. "I found a great timing with my receives yesterday. It fires me up!"

Takeshi blinks. "H - hey, that's ..."

"They're like trophies," Fujihara whispers at the bruises reverently.

"Right? _Right?_ You're the best kōhai. You _understand._ L-- look, I'll teach you how to become the best libero ever! You got that?"

"Really?"

"Yeah! I will!"

_"Yay!"_

"Shit," says Takeshi. He backs up, toward the doorway. His eyes are fixed in a frozen stare. "You're insane. You're -- you're all insane."

"Not everyone here has the same affection for pain," Tsukishima says, blandly.

Takeshi slowly swings his head toward Ennoshita. "S-- senpai ...?"

"Sorry, Tajiri-kun," says Ennoshita. He scratches the side of his face. "It can get crazy, but they're well-meaning ... usually ... _settle down!_ "

Tanaka and Kageyama stop making faces at Takeshi. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima simultaneously stifle a snort. Nishinoya nearly drops Fujihara to the ground, and Hitoka isn't sure if she wants to know the skinship involved in Fujihara nearly _climbing_ on him. 

There's a shifting of movement by the door and Hitoka sees Takeda-sensei arrive, take one look at the sideshow, and walk over to Coach Ukai. Coach Ukai says something that makes Takeda-sensei laugh. Takeda-sensei returns the easy familiarity and says something that makes Coach Ukai freeze, then his glance skips past Hitoka as he surveys the situation and Hitoka's insides shrivel and Hitoka wants to die.

"Tajiri-kun," says Yamaguchi, taking pity on the poor guy. "We do have fun here. You can only have fun once you become strong."

"This," Takeshi gestures at the chaos, Nishinoya showing off the bruises on his legs, "this is strong?"

Takeda-sensei nudges Coach Ukai. Coach Ukai sighs and steps forward.

"Tajiri," he says. "This is Karasuno Volleyball Club's bond." Hitoka thinks she heard _deviant, absolutely hentai_ whispered under Ukai's breath, but it could just have been her imagination. "Last year, there were, uh ... lots of punishment laps?" Coach Ukai looks at Takeda-sensei with slight desperation.

Takeda-sensei subtly mimes drinking and gives him a mildly sadistic grin.

"They're a team," Coach Ukai says lamely. "Uh. Everyone's passion comes from the frustration of losing. Kageyama thinks your resolve is weak?"

Kageyama grunts.

"You're extremely gifted ... but when you play ... he ... feels the dedication ... lacking ...?"

Kageyama grunts again.

And, to Hitoka, all the sparks in the air and the familiarity she hadn't realised she'd lost settles into place, and ...

Everything lines up.

 _Hitoka_ , says the voice in her head, the one that sounds like her mother. _The most rudest thing you can do is give half the effort after joining passionate people._

 _Okā-san,_ thinks Hitoka. _Is this what you mean?_

There's a strange lightness in her head that more than makes up for her lack of answer.

Hitoka bites her lip. She twists her hands together behind her back, and her weight shifts against the ground. Why hadn't she realised it sooner? Why?

_Sorry, Takeshi-kun._

When Hitoka looks up, Takeshi is staring at her. For an instant, her heart stops. Hitoka's never been good at hiding her thoughts from her face. Furrowed brow and eyes trained to the floor, caught by guilt and ...

Takeshi flinches. He'd seen it.

Hitoka isn't on his side any more. 

"Ho," says Takeshi, slowly. "Hoh. Ho. Okay. I get it. I ... Ennoshita-senpai!"

Ennoshita starts. 

"Tajiri-kun?" he asks.

Takeshi drops into a bow parallel to the ground. "Thank you for letting me play!"

"Eh? Are you --"

"Yes. I am."

"You ... you don't have to quit, Tajiri-kun." Ennoshita takes a step forward. "Didn't you want to play? To be on a court. You can --"

"It's alright, senpai."

Takeshi walks. His feet are slow and his steps are measured, basketball shoes gingerly paying their respects to the volleyball court they'd intruded. Nishinoya and Fujihara are in his way -- bidden by a mysterious force, they jump aside in perfect synchrony.

Hitoka tries to open her mouth and say that she's sorry. She should have worked it out. The words don't materialise. Her throat hurts and won't open.

His feet stop at the threshold.

"'Left wing spiker'," he says, slowly. "That's the Ace, right? I always felt like I was some kind of replacement. Now I know why I don't fit in. It's lucky that Hinata decided to switch positions, I'm glad you'll all have an amazing player there."

Takeshi turns around and smiles, dimples like tiny sunrises, and steps into the air.

"Thanks for everything!" Takeshi waves. "I'll let you all know when Karasuno Basketball Club gets its first game!" 

 

 

 

 

"Finally," says Tsukishima. He brushes past Kageyama. "Well done, _King._ " 

Kageyama scowls. He flexes the hand he'd used to punch Takeshi. "Shut up. You'll only trick me once."

"Hey." A tick appears in Tsukishima's brow. "Don't assume I was ever aiming to goad _you._ "

Hastily, Yamaguchi turns to Hitoka. "I'm sorry Tsukki is such a ... uh ..."

Hitoka closes her eyes. Her stomach hurts and she doesn't really want to play the miming game again.

"Y- you can say 'ass', Yamaguchi-kun."

"Yamaguchi-kun, don't use that sort of language," says Ennoshita. "There are first-years."

Hitoka cracks her eyes open. There's only one first-year left. Fujihara, staring at where Tajiri had stalked off without really seeing it, whispering a chant about how cool the volleyball club is and looking like he's been bestowed by divine inspiration.

Next to her, Yamaguchi is flushing.

"I was," Yamaguchi pauses, "going to say that Tsukki can be a pain, but ... that works?"

Hitoka feels a flush rising just looking at him.

"Oh."

She's saved when Ennoshita claps his hands. He tries to give the combination smirk and laughing eyes expression he's managed to perfect as captain, but can't quite manage it. Everyone files in around him and Hitoka is sure that she's not the only one pretending she can't see glistening remains on his face and a downward twist to his lips.

"Alright," says Ennoshita. "That ... it's a shame that Tajiri-kun decided to leave, but we'll be fine. We'll get back to full strength. We'll recruit again. We have to leave the qualms we had during the Inter-High behind, and ... and we'll fly. Hinata?"

Silence.

Everyone looks around.

There's no blaze of fiery hair anywhere, and Hitoka wonders how she hadn't noticed it ever being missing.

"That moron!" Kageyama growls. "Stupid Hinata, switching to left wing! Where did that idiot --"

"Ah, Hinata-kun?" says Takeda-sensei. "Hinata-kun is outside."

Ennoshita's eyes flicker. "When did he ..."

"I'll go get him," Hitoka volunteers.

"Thanks, Yachi-san."

Hitoka tiptoes past the gymnasium's threshold without a sound.

She finds him easily, squatting next to the shoe cupboard and staring at his phone. Has Hinata ever taken his phone with him to practice instead of locking it in the club room? Hitoka can't remember.

Hinata notices her immediately. "Yachi-san! Did it work? Is Kageyama back to normal now?"

"I think so," says Hitoka. 

Hinata flashes a victory sign. "Woo!"

His grin is infectious. Hitoka finds herself smiling back.

"Ennoshita-san was asking for you," she tells him.

"Okay."

Hinata's stretch is like a big yawn, a sun and its radiant approach, bobbing up and up to midday. 

The screen on his phone catches the light. A contact entry is open. The text is too small to read and there is no photo.

"Were you calling someone?" Hitoka asks.

"Kinda. He wasn't picking up, though."

Hitoka recognises the tone as the one Hinata uses when he's bugging Kageyama for one more toss. Just one more! _One more!_ Curiosity lifts its head because Kageyama is indoors, yet Hitoka has an idea about who it could be anyway.

"Was it the grand king?"

"Yep."

 _What's he like?_ , Hitoka wants to ask, but it feels a little creepy.

Instead, she decides: "Ca-- Can you thank him for me?"

Hinata stares at her.

Hitoka shifts and bites her lip, trying to ignore the urge to let the topic go. "Well, he helped, with getting the volleyball club back to normal, so ..."

_So please stop staring like that! Am I not supposed to know about him? Is he like ... like a secret cousin born as a bastard and a **huge** secret, until he's accidentally discovered by a maid and they discover he's the **real** noble prince, but to avoid an arranged marriage they still end up eloping at the end of the season?!?_

"Sure," says Hinata, a little oddly. 

Hinata is still staring. His mouth is frozen, slightly parted, which also means --

"... Hinata?"

"Mmm?"

"You're ... drooling."

Hinata jumps a metre in the air and yelps. As soon as he lands, he furiously scrubs at the corner of his jaw, and tries to huff off the smattered blush colouring the tips of his cheeks. Hitoka realises he's also _moving_ again, tiny micro-actions of his chest and shoulders and hands. They dance together and dispel a puppet-curse, bringing him back to life.

"I'll -- I'm going to find Ennoshita-san!" Hinata shouts, a little too loudly.

"S- Sure!" Hitoka shouts back.

"I really! Really! Like helping you! _Yachi-san!_ "

"Yo --" Hitoka goes red. _What am I meant to say to that?_ "You're welcome!"

When Hinata runs inside it feels more like Hinata is fleeing.

 

 

 

 

Everybody puts their hands together. Hitoka's hand is on top of Hinata's and beneath Tsukishima's. Hinata's is burning hot and Tsukishima still hasn't gotten the distainful pinch of his nose fixed. 

"We're gonna make our comeback!" shouts Ennoshita. The tears in his eyes are real. Tanaka and Nishinoya are also crying. Fujihara's face is determined but he just looks like he's about to throw up. Hitoka can't see anyone else's face but the pile of hands quivers in unison with her heart, like an engine which has just been re-ignited, burning with newfound passion.

Tsukishima mutters something about _one person having a cold_ , but Hitoka doesn't care.

We're back.

We're going to win.

Again.

Again.

And again.

"Together, once more! _To the Nationals!_ "

 

 

 

 

_**"KARASUNO, FIGHT!"** _

 

 

 

 

Everyone leaves in a weird order that evening. Hinata bounds out first, very quickly followed by Kageyama, and their departure escalates even quicker into wild racing. Tanaka and Nishinoya go out imparting wise words of wisdom to their new adopted son, which all turn out to be stories about Shimizu-senpai, and while feelings of inadequacy still churn a little in Hitoka's gut they still take the time to grin and wave at her. It's not as hard as it used to be to pull on her best smile when she waves back. Ennoshita and the other third-years leave with Takeda-sensei, talking about recruitment again.

Then it's Hitoka's time to leave. Coach Ukai is staring at the whiteboard filled with new rotation diagrams, tapping at the tiny [W] symbolising Hinata. She doesn't miss the small glances that Yamaguchi keeps giving Tsukishima, a clear indication that they need to talk.

Hitoka bids everyone a good night and goes to change her shoes. There's a faint murmuring outside. The moon is high, the air fresh with mild humidity. It's going to rain soon. There are crickets gossiping in the night, chitter chitter.

The murmurs transform into voices from an open window.

"... you tried to force Coach to act." Yamaguchi's voice is serious. "You're not ... giving up, are you?"

"Huh? Don't be stupid," says Tsukishima. "Both our middle blockers were second-years. So, between you and Narita, I expect you to win."

"Ah ...?"

Hitoka _eeps_ under her breath. Tsukishima wanted Yamaguchi fielded? Isn't there something called plausible deniability? She really shouldn't be listening to this.

Something drops.

The remains of her conscience, probably.

"Tsukki ...!" 

"Damnit, no. Stop that."

"You didn't have to -- I'm fine pinch serving, I didn't need to play --"

"Don't _\--!_ "

There's a loud thud. Hitoka pales, because it sounds painful. It should be okay, right? Coach Ukai is in there. He hasn't said anything.

She's looking for an excuse to go back inside and check on them, shoes half-toed off, when the talking returns again.

"Then we'll be rivals," says Yamaguchi.

"Is that a problem?"

"N ... no. But what about Hinata? Even your names ..."

Tsukishima coughs. He makes a lot of jokes about illness transmission and idiots immune to colds. Even though there was that one time when practice was cancelled for days because _everyone_ caught the same flu, and Tsukishima was the only one who could run the hot water errands while the rest of the gymnasium hung thick with disease -- not even Kageyama managed to pull himself together long enough to insult him back, Tsukishima's perpetual cannon of smart-ass remarks destroying the germs faster than they could even give him a single runny nose.

Tsukishima's cough isn't a fake cough, when he's brilliant and belligerent and about to cut an enemy into two. 

A shiver attacks her bones. The moon is still high, so the world isn't ending. Hearing a real cough from Tsukishima is _weird_.

"Just because two names happen to work together doesn't mean both peoples' lives are going to revolve around each other forever."

Weird cough or not, Tsukishima's delivery is so deadpan perfect that his eye-roll is audible and he needs his own TV show.

The crickets chitter approvingly.

"So you stopped thinking of him as a rival," says Yamaguchi. "Why?"

Footsteps. Tsukishima makes an unreadable sound, much closer to Hitoka.

"Ah?" says Yamaguchi. "Where are you - is there something outside ..."

Oh. They're right next to her now. Hitoka clamps down on every part of her body and ducks behind the shoe cupboard. It's too late to escape and pretend she hasn't been there - Tsukishima is so tall that he'll spot her as soon as she moves. Hitoka reminds herself to breathe when she's so dizzy that she's seeing two moons. Wow, they're like twins. That's cool.

Now two Tsukishimas can kill her for discovering their conspiracy.

_Sorry, okā-san. Looks like you'll see me off after all. I'm going to die._

Tsukishima coughs again.

"Are you alright, Tsukki?"

"I ... expected him to act. He shouldn't have been that fast."

"Huh? Hinata?"

"He's different. Being whittled. Something's sharper."

Fabric shifts. The crickets murmur.

"H - hey, you're rambling. Are, are you sure you're --"

Time slows. Tsukishima coughs. The crickets chitter like a studio audience, and Hitoka finally pulls herself from her guilt to realise --

"'m fine."

\-- that Tsukishima-that-doesn't-get-sick is _not okay at all_.

 _Stop_ , Hitoka thinks, because the crickets chitter chitter and won't stop with their glee. Hitoka lifts her head from between her legs and tries to stop herself trembling. The moons are vibrating, even though the rest of the world is frozen. _Stop laughing._

"Y- you should really sit down," says Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima makes a stubborn sound through gritted teeth. "I'm not - not going to chase him down his foolish path. He can ... he can aim for Ace all he wants, but I ..."

"Tsukki!" shouts Yamaguchi, more scared than during any pinch serve, "Watch out --"

He's cut off by a sickening crash, like the ground has opened and the sky is falling.

"Ow. Shit. Shit --"

"Hey, Tsukishima!" Coach Ukai's voice. "The hell? Don't --"

_"Tsukki --!"_

Tsukishima coughs. He coughs, like something has pinned him by the throat, and Hitoka's heart explodes against an invisible field as she hurtles herself through the door. Her shoes fall off at the threshold of the gymnasium.

Her eyes focus in the light to see Tsukishima -- tall, snarky, smug Tsukishima -- curled on the floor, all four legs of the volleyball cart pointed toward him like swords, gripping his chest like it's bleeding. His eyes are delirious, and his breath is unsteady. Hitoka stumbles over, tripping over thick air.

Time starts to warp, bringing with it a smell -- sickly-sweet smoke, chemical residues cloying her throat, tainted by burning, choking sugar. Hitoka barely registers Coach Ukai's presence shifting from anger to worry because the air has shifted and ash is everywhere. A trophy flashes in her vision, and the gymnasium floods with spirits. The pressure in the hall sends the sea of scattered volleyballs erupting into vengeance and fire.

A clock tick, tick, ticks.

Her heartbeat falls in sync.

Hitoka swallows the remains of her lungs and cranks her gaze to Yamaguchi.

"Wh ... what happened?"

Yamaguchi opens his mouth, only for a strangled noise to burst from the floor before he can speak.

Tsukishima slams his fist into wooden boards and something only he can see.

_"He's hungry."_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'normalcy' is relative ★
> 
>  
> 
> ► [basketball](https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%85%A8%E5%9B%BD%E9%AB%98%E7%AD%89%E5%AD%A6%E6%A0%A1%E3%83%90%E3%82%B9%E3%82%B1%E3%83%83%E3%83%88%E3%83%9C%E3%83%BC%E3%83%AB%E9%81%B8%E6%8A%9C%E5%84%AA%E5%8B%9D%E5%A4%A7%E4%BC%9A), [Japanese falconry](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Takagari) (鷹狩 videos on youtube are zoom! ☆)  
> ► title: Sugar, Incise, Quarantine ==> ['siq' / 'sick'](https://milksalt.tumblr.com/post/150574079610/nomenclature) \-- a play on 'yandere', derived from 'sickness' (病), but you can make the same joke with 'mental illness'


	7. Hunt (喧嘩するほど仲がいい)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunt (because they argue, that means they're a close relationship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ※ Readers are advised that this chapter contains graphic descriptions of animals feeding on other animals.
> 
> ※ creator's style is recommended to be [on].

 

 

 

#### Iwaizumi Hajime

##### Me

> what is the best option?

three days ago

 

 

 

There ought to be some wonder in catching a train to the countryside, in watching streets peel back to green, and admiring distant mountains rotating on giant hinges. Buildings give way to a land parallel to the breadth of great peaks, trees stretch far into the distance, and the exhale of the wind wakes waves past plains like the echo of a great, dry sea.

Tōru sees that Iwaizumi still hasn't replied to his text. Instead of looking at the scenery, he shifts into a more comfortable position and returns to messaging his latest contact.

They met something like this:

"Oikawa Tōru?!" -- a loud shout, in exclamation.

Saw long legs, non-petite, half-Caucasian.

He was quickly amazed.

He missed his own train.

And sent off a 'late', some small explanation.

 _(kk_ , Hinata responded back, then: _ill see if coach found any rats._ )

Tōru didn't bother asking. He has other interests to look on to. Better views. It's been a while since he'd been stopped by a fan.

She'd introduced herself, "My name is ...", family name and first name all a phonetic jumble of sounds, reversed accordingly. Tōru would have dismissed her if it were not for the following glint in her demeanour, "it's nice to meet you, Lord Prince of Volleyball."

Tōru rose taller. A switch flicked; a light to the finish. He could enjoy some boldness - ignite a climaxing trailblaze in his wake.

"It's my pleasure," Tōru had replied.

Her messages take a while to arrive. The grammar is all over the place, as is the formality. Some are fairly straightforward, if unwieldy: _for which university do you play?_ And then there are messages like the next that end up as _I like to go and I watch your volleyball's plays_.

 _No university_ , Tōru sends. _I retired to rest my knees._

 _Gomen_ , she returns.

Tōru glances at the Roman characters and thinks: Foreigners really do use 'sorry' differently.

He asks about her. She attends an international school. She's been here for two months. Her uncle is a permanent resident and often sends her recordings of volleyball matches. Japan has some of her most favourite volleyball in the world, stylish? (He can't decipher.) She is enjoying Japan. There are many things similar to the TV dramas but the dramas are not real Japan.

Her mention of dramas has Tōru think from common miscommunication plots to Iwaizumi's lack of reply.

 _Say_ , Tōru sends, _may I ask you a question?_

_Sure._

_Yamada John has a kōhai. They both have the same job, on graduation. But, only one of them are able to be promoted, and his kōhai is much more talented. If you were Yamada John, what would you do?_

He expects the delay in her response. Tōru fixes his hair in the reflection of his screen as she goes about checking the dictionary.

 _Which one is you?_ The first reply.

Tōru stifles a chuckle. Foreigner indeed. _None._

_It's specific._

_This is for a screenplay I'm writing._

_I see. Oikawa's injury hobby?_

_You should call me 'Dream Creator'._

_Eh?_

_It's title ~_

A delay. Something like confusion.

_Dreams? In that case, Yamada John should chase for his dream?_

Tōru hums. He closes his eyes. The train hums back, vibrations between wheels and earth singing against the base of his feet and tickling his toes. He grabs his threads of thoughts, trims them, thinks of time trickling through futures untold. The sunlight trails through the side of the train to tease at his face.

He stops his weaving and twists his eyelids open.

 _I like you_ , Tōru sends, in English. Then back in Japanese: _Do you want to meet in the evening?_

It takes a long time until she responds. It shouldn't, because Tōru made sure to use grammar simple enough that machines could translate it correctly. Enough time passes that Tōru has adjusted his hair twice and flicked in and out of Iwaizumi's message history at least thirty times.

And then she sends a link.

Tōru clicks it.

The webpage of an upmarket hotel unfurls streamers of orange and burgundy across the screen.

Tōru's eyebrows go up.

 _I don't have that sort of money_ , sends Tōru, opting for bluntness over the usual social dance.

A delay, then:

_I don't mind._

The corners of Tōru's mouth rise so far they must be flying.

They arrange a time. She'll make the booking. It's a little late when he notices he hasn't saved her address under a contact yet. Huh. He knows her name, of course. It's filed in the part of his mind that will only give him a name if he has the face to go with it.

That's not the name he's looking for.

Tōru taps the edge of his phone against his lip, thinks back to English lessons from another life, then sends:

_Then if I am Dream Creator, you're be my Fantasy._

The train shakes as it crosses a bridge. In the distance, civilisation emerges, rising from the sides of the window frame.

 _Poetic, Creator-san_ , she replies.

Tōru smiles and saves it in.

 

 

 

 

Torono is a small town, to the west with Miyagi's mountains. Tōru is familiar with it because it's the only reason Manager Sasegawa's sports store stocks camping equipment on its shelves -- sleeping bags opposite to rackets, insect repellent next to socks -- and though he can list the three most necessary goods a person must have before they decide to go there for a weekend and offer practical advice in the name of service, he's never been there himself until today.

 _Quaint,_ he thinks, with all the good humour of city folk toward the unfamiliar. It's an improvement over the train ride, with paths he would start describing as roads as opposed to adequate tracks. There are barely any buildings higher than two storeys, the radio transmission towers the tallest constructs in the vicinity, and the sky is so large above a line of mountains to one side of the horizon. When he steps onto the platform, there's no underground to exit, no escalators or stairs. The station is a long building level to the street and all Tōru needs to do is walk out after swiping his card.

On the other side is a carving of a bird on a rock. Etched beneath it in vertical characters is the text _Bird Rock Plain._

Tōru steps past. A flash of orange behind the carved bird draws his attention.

Hinata's head emerges, then the rest of him jumps out to reveal a shirt with atrocious English in giant text, and shorts with a print so ugly that a perfectly nice shade of beige looks like vomit.

He also has a face mask strapped across his jaw.

"Grand king!" he says.

"Yo, Chibi-chan," says Tōru, with a sideways smile. He eyes the face mask without saying anything.

Hinata vibrates on his feet. His eyes are beaming back, and it looks like he's grinning under the face mask's folds. "Let's go, let's go!"

Hinata adjusts his backpack, Tōru follows, and it's like Tōru isn't even late at all.

"Sick?" prompts Tōru.

"Stupid Tsukishima has a stupid cold," Hinata grumbles.

"Tsukishima?"

"Tall, blond, beanpole."

"Ah." It's easy to remember the sole player responsible for raising the height average in a team full of oddballs. "Your other middle blocker."

"Mhmm. He was so faint he nearly took out the volleyball cart. Sheesh, if you're that sick, you should stay home ..."

"Who knows?" says Tōru. "Maybe getting his cold will make you grow taller."

Hinata sniffles, snot and gloop. "I hope so."

Tōru glances at him. Hinata's stride is steady, his breathing calm. Hinata Shōyō is growing comfortable in a statement meant to garner his reaction.

They move deeper into a road between a cluster of buildings. Ubiquitous telephone poles pull wires across their heads like oversized clotheslines. There's a sign with a cartoon bird on it, similar to the carving by the station, and a forward-pointing arrow. Keep going, follow the bird, this way. This way.

"I fixed the volleyball club back to normal," Hinata says, suddenly.

"I can tell," Tōru informs.

"Guh?"

"You've stopped nagging."

Tōru doesn't mention that if Hinata tried to use him for answers one more time, he would have found a reason to leave and never meet with him again. A sudden headache thanks to Hinata's screeching voice, or an appointment of the apartment variety. He has plenty of fans. Meet straight with Fantasy and skip to getting laid.

Is he desperate? Maybe. There's not a lot of entertainment left in his life without a court, or supplies, or anyone to play with or against.

 _Hinata is there_ , a thought points out.

Yes. Tōru knows. He knows who it is he's out with, especially whenever they pass window glass or a car or any reflective surface, and Tōru glances into the haze to check on his reflection. The golden orb that is Hinata's hair constantly bobs to one side, a personal sun perched on the other Tōru's shoulder.

"Was I nagging?" Hinata asks curiously.

"More than Iwaizumi," says Tōru. "And sometimes Iwaizumi is my mother."

"Ohhhh." Hinata looks at the ground in front of his feet and sniffles. "Dat's bad."

"Eww. Your cold is bad."

"It weally ish."

"Stay home ...!"

"Bbt," and Hinata sniffs his snot back up his nose in a great vacuuming _schhoop_ , "I wanted to play volleyball with you, grand king."

Grand King Oikawa Tōru recoils from the sparkle-turned-snot monster, and swings an arm between them like he's on the poster of a budget kung-fu comedy. "No! That's _so gross_ , Chibi-chan. As if! Don't think you can get a toss from me now!"

Hinata's head swings back up, gaze hollow above the face mask.

"I know," he says, in the most dejected tone that Tōru has heard, including every girl he'd ever rejected in his life. "I worked it out afterwards. You didn't agree to playing, so the reason you said we should meet at Torono is because it's good for sightseeing."

Tōru raises his eyebrows.

Hinata turns away.

"Bird Rock is down this end. There'll be a few falcons there this time of year."

"Falcons, mmm?"

Hinata hefts his backpack. "I brought mice."

"From _where_."

"My house."

"Do you live in a nest? Next to a garbage dump?"

Tōru is tall enough to see Hinata puffing his cheeks, and his hair bobbing when he huffs. "That's rude, grand king."

There's nothing in Tōru's bank when he tries to withdraw a reply. He blinks. The timing is lost.

Tōru makes a note that those assumptions are triggers, and reaches for the future.

They take a shortcut little more than a strip of dirt. It doesn't surprise him that Hinata is a local, since Karasuno is the next town over. They step out onto another unnamed street that wouldn't exist on the best of maps, Hinata barely thinking about where they're going. Some people wave at him as they pass, and Hinata greets them back. Tōru follows the example. He's welcomed, but as soon as he turns away, they stop pretending not to stare. The thread count in his shirt is higher than the number of hairs on their heads combined.

Tōru checks his phone and eyes them through his peripheral vision. It would be better if they were looks of admiration.

They leave the town and step onto the only road reaching forwards up a slope, with no marked lanes or pedestrian paths. The road is full of blind spots, alternating between straight and winding. Ten minutes later they're heading up a mountain where a weak double rail blocks a sharp cliff drop. Orange-rimmed safety mirrors dutifully report on any hazards tucked behind every corner.

"... Our farmhouse has a yard."

It's been a while since Hinata Shōyō initiated conversation with him.

"Must be nice," says Tōru absently, scratching his nose. "Mice aside."

"You live in the city, right?"

"Not downtown, no. Near it. They brought in another police box not too long ago. It's been growing."

The road has a lot of speed humps. Tōru steps over another and mentions so.

"People used to street race on the pass," Hinata explains. "It was really loud and scared a lot of birds away. Bird Rock isn't Bird Rock without birds, so they put the speed humps in ... around when I was born? I'll have to ask Kā-san."

It's not a particularly interesting topic to fill the silence, but Tōru makes an appropriate noise anyway.

His phone buzzes.

It's just his sister.

 _Where are you?_ , the notification says.

"Are you expecting a call, grand king?"

Tōru looks up to find Hinata in his face. Hinata's eyes are wide.

Tōru turns his phone off and tucks it into his pocket, accompanied by the most careless air he knows.

"No," says Tōru.

"Okay."

That's a nice dismissal. Very nice. Non-intruding.

The mountain sunlight rolls over them. There are birds tucked out of sight, cawing at each other, being nosy. Tōru ignores them - the trip is so that he can avoid his sister for this weekend, yet that doesn't mean he has to spend it wasting time. He watches Hinata's expression now that they've stopped walking. Hinata's sniffling has died down.

"You're being very considerate today, Chibi-chan," Tōru remarks.

"You said I have to ask stuff, grand king."

Tōru's eyebrows can't rise any higher. "Then, if I asked you to leave ..."

"You wouldn't."

"So confident."

A small softening kneads the corners out of Hinata's sharp gaze.

"You wouldn't," says Hinata, in a strange voice, and is it Tōru's imagination when the sun shines brighter? Or has a cloud been brushed aside by the wind and released the sun's rays?

Tōru slides his shoulders back, tucks his arms behind his head, and plays with the base of his hair. "Why not?"

Hinata tilts his head. "Because then you'd be lost, right?"

Tōru twitches. Warmth spiderwebs from his neck, curves around his jaw, crawls up his cheeks. Tōru licks lips which have curled back to bare fangs.

" _Chibi ..._ "

There's always a vortex when Karasuno holds momentum. Any moment, Karasuno could launch into flight with a pinpoint quick-and-set. Tobio's concentration never reveals his intentions, even as his senses sweep the field for heartbeats, mapping the positions of all the players. Space has refused Tōru, and time is the only lady which limits him. No matter how much he predicts or projects, he'll always be one second and one step behind. A phantom ball hits his arm and ricochets; Karasuno wins their second match. The last chance to move on, to crush Shiratorizawa.

It would take Tōru years to master the amount of spin control in Tobio's toss.

He's staring at the space above Hinata's head. He reminds himself to stay perky -- raise his head and let light into his eyes.

"What do you want?" Tōru says.

"I want to play volleyball," is Hinata's simple reply.

"Tobio is setting for you again. You can go play your stupid volleyball."

"But," and Hinata glances aside, "I want yours."

"You are a very greedy bird, Chibi-chan."

"Aaah?"

Tōru clicks his tongue. He smooths his facial features back to his usual expression, and flicks back his hair.

"Nothing, nothing ~! Oikawa-san is just talking to himself again."

Hinata makes an understanding trilling sound. Tōru watches the breath travelling in and out his chest. No defensiveness, no recognition. No levers. Space has refused Tōru. Tōru has to find Hinata on his own, and Tōru can't find him.

If the ignorance is back-manipulation, Hinata will pay.

"Buuuuut," and Tōru tilts his head, like Hinata had, "you really _are_ being nice today. Did I do something to deserve this? Or, hey, you'd do it for Tobio as well!"

Hinata's glance hovers sideways again.

"Not really," he says stiffly. He turns around, and returns to walking. "Kageyama never has time to wait. He'd already be up there as soon as I told him we were going."

"So interested in falcons, is he?"

"We're not allowed to lose until one of us wins."

The voice is different. Hinata's usual fidgeting is gone. Tōru needs to see Hinata's face, needs to confirm his suspicions, is spurned to _need_ the answers as much as he needs to breathe. Tōru can't -- they're heading up a hill, so even if he overtakes him, Hinata would be too short, his face too low to see.

There are dark strips across the road, cast by clouds and trees, and Tōru conjures Iwaizumi's shadow within them. Iwaizumi's image is him at his strongest, Tōru's clearest recollection. Seijō's Ace, bedrock in strength and fortitude, a faint lack of height deemed irrelevant by the confident set to his shoulders, always standing giant by Tōru's side in white and aquamarine.

 _You're obsessed_ , Iwaizumi says.

Tōru already knows this. _Tell me about Hinata Shōyō._

A breeze rustles the trees. Iwaizumi's image flickers.

_You're obsessed._

_I hate prodigies_ , Tōru retorts.

"Me too," adds Hinata's voice.

Tōru stops. The voice was behind him. He spins around and searches for the voice and sees himself in the safety mirror, distorted and tiny.

Hinata is still leading ahead. There was nothing to carry the words.

Iwaizumi vanishes when the wind picks up; the trees exhale in unison, and the shadows are broken.

The roads around them have always been empty.

 

 

 

 

"Here it is!"

They stop at a small viewing platform built into the side of the mountain. Hinata runs to the edge with his arms outstretched, and for a moment Tōru actually believes that he's about to jump and leap like he does when he's spiking. Instead, Hinata stops, and clutches the top of the barrier with his hands shaped like little claws.

Hinata points down the other side.

"Falcons," he says.

Tōru approaches at a more steady pace, stops beside Hinata, and looks.

Sure enough, there's a bird. It's a deep gray-black and about the size of a crow. The drop is actually a small cliff, brown exposed stone cleaved by some giant, the only bare rock in an expanse of green hills. The falcon stands on a rocky ledge, beside some whiskery threads of dead vegetation, looking at the view and minding its own business quite contently.

"Huh," says Tōru.

The falcon leans backwards and flares its wings as it looks up.

Tōru waves.

The falcon eyes him, shrieks a sharp _ke kekk_ , then flaps back to standing.

"Aren't they great?" says Hinata. "It's not breeding season, and they don't really migrate --"

"Did you say something about mice?"

"Oh. Yeah. _Yeah!_ "

Hinata drops his bag down to the ground and starts rummaging. Tōru yawns. He isn't _tired_ , but that walk took nearly an hour.

Tōru blinks when he finds a thermos in front of his face. He takes it, then takes the plastic cup Hinata hands him next. "What's this?"

"Kā-san made some tea. Have some."

Tōru waves the plastic cup. "Did you put this next to the mice? Did you know that's unhygenic?"

"They're in their own bags, grand king." Hinata huffs. "You're really obsessed. Did you get bitten by mice as a kid?"

Tōru smirks. "That's rude, Chibi-chan."

Where Iwaizumi may have zeroed in on Tōru for mocking him, Hinata juts his jaw and looks back to his bag, wise enough to realise that Tōru is inviting him into a conversation he can't win.

That's no fun.

Tōru turns around so he can still lean against the barrier despite holding things in both hands. Exhale.

A heartbeat echoes above still waters.

Tōru grins, and air fills him.

"Chibi-chan ~?" he sing-songs.

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about Tobio-chan."

Hinata pauses. "Kageyama? Why?"

"Well," and Tōru dregs up Hanamaki with his sakuramochi hair, waving the hand holding the plastic cup in a friendly flourish like Hanamaki waves to new first-years, "we went to the same junior high, right? I _am_ his senpai. I haven't seen him for an entire year ~! You know?"

"Yeah."

"Sooooo ..." Tōru leans closer. "Tell me what's going on ~" He looks at the cup in his hand, then inclines it in Hinata's direction. "Want some tea?"

Tōru's face is so close that he can see the stitches in the face mask and each of Hinata's individual eyelashes. Hinata glanced up when Tōru moved the cup, a basic human reaction. Tōru doesn't breathe, in case his breath introduces an irregularity, and watches the eyelashes shift outwards as Hinata's eyes widen. Then, they erratically hop up and down when he blinks in quick succession.

"... sure."

 _So_ , thinks Tōru, completing the test by serving from the cheap thermos with tea ceremony grace, _Hinata Shōyō can be confused after all._

He hands the tea across and smiles.

"... Thanks," says Hinata, slowly.

The face mask is tugged beneath Hinata's chin.

Tōru continues smiling.

Hinata pauses with drink in his mouth, and starts edging sideways.

Tōru does nothing until Hinata's third nervous gulp, just as Hinata's wariness starts to fade, stretches back like he'd changed his mind, and says:

"So what's dating Tobio like?"

Hinata seizes and spills liquid out his mouth and down the front of his shirt. The coughing fit that follows is exactly what Tōru's expecting.

"What?! _No!_ As if I would be --"

"Why not?" Tōru tucks a hand beneath his chin. "He is very cute. Dark and attractive, with a voice that --"

"Gross, gross, _blearrrghhhh,_ " Hinata pulls his face mask up and starts wiping at his clothes. "Don't lump me in with his fangirls, grand king."

Tōru leans forward. "He has _fangirls_ , too?!"

"Yes." Hinata sulks. "I liked this shirt. You suck."

Tōru decides to take it as a compliment.

"Ahh, my little Tobio-chan ... learning more from Oikawa-san than he could ever have imagined ~ I'm sure his experience has already long surpassed mine ..."

A dark flush starts to spread up Hinata's ears.

"I don't - I don't think he sleeps with them," Hinata mumbles.

"How would you know that, Chibi-chan?"

"B ... because he takes after you, right? You never ... slept with any of your fans ... so ..."

There's a pause for all of two seconds until Tōru remembers to snort. His shoulders shake, and within moments he's clutching his chest in laughter. It takes ten seconds before his diaphragm starts to hurt, and he would have stopped, but the longer he laughs is the more that Hinata's face loses the war against irritation.

For once, Hinata's cheeks aren't puffing up -- his lips are twisting to hold back words, and the light leaves his eyes as the blush continues its invasion.

"Did you want to see the mice or not?" Hinata mutters.

"Fine, fine," says Tōru, generously. He takes a step forward. "I won't ask why you _remember_ that rumour. But tell me, who told it to you?"

A faint mumble inside his shadow.

"Hmm ~?" says Tōru.

"... shinoya n' Tanaka were saying about it in the club room."

Internal, huh?

"Okay," and Tōru steps back, releasing the pressure. Hinata's muscles relax, unconsciously -- there's no hint of awareness influencing the rest of his demeanour. "You can show off your trophy mice now."

Hinata's quick to rummage in his backpack, procuring a plastic bag. It and its contents fit like a lump in Hinata's palm. The knot is pulled open. Tōru peers inside to see masses of light grey fur and three thin, rope-like tails.

Hinata pushes the bag toward him, so Tōru reaches inside and grabs one of them. Hinata tenses, suddenly, and it's as soon as Tōru backs up that he sneezes.

"Chibi-chan ..." says Tōru, barely ducking at the last moment.

"'m sohbwy." There's a hint of tears in Hinata's eyes. "Yu can just drop it over the edge now."

The mouse, dangling by its tail from Tōru's fingers, is dead and undoubtedly covered in more bacteria than Hinata's face mask. Disposing of the mouse is exactly what Tōru intends to do.

Tōru returns back to the barrier and examines the distance with a setter's eyes.

"Hmm ~"

He lets the mouse go. It lands with a flop. The falcon barely looks before its wings flare open, and it zeroes in.

The process - and it has to be a process, because the falcon takes time to move the corpse into position - is rather interesting, if a little difficult to see. As the falcon has no arms, it secures the base of the mouse to the cliff's edge by resting its weight against its talons. Its head bobs down once or twice, then Tōru spots a flash of red inside a stump where the snout had been. How clever, feasting first from the brain, to kill the mouse in case it would flee.

Tōru decides he likes falcons.

It's systematic. Systematic is how the falcon's head goes down to grab a piece of flesh, then up again to rip it off and to swallow. Again, and again. When most of the mouse has been eaten, it picks up the rear in one motion and lifts its head, giving Tōru his clearest view. The mouse is jostled into its throat. The first gulp: the lower legs. The next: everything but the tail, which coils as it's flipped like a desperate attempt to bind the maws.

A final toss of the falcon's head and the mouse is gone.

Hinata had joined Tōru at some point, and it's now that he makes a thoughtful noise.

"It must be hungry," says Hinata.

"Oh?"

Shrug. "They really prefer eating birds."

"When you say birds ..."

"Little ones. Ducks, pigeons." Hinata glances across. "You were gonna make a crow joke, weren't you?"

Tōru sticks out his tongue.

"Chibi-chan is no fun at all ~"

Hinata laughs. Tōru refines the notes for his patterns.

"I wonder if it'll have room for three mice," says Hinata.

"Try toss."

Hinata grabs a mouse and drops it off the side.

By some chance, the falcon decides to turn around and stretch its wings at that exact moment. The mouse falls, bounces off, and keeps falling far into the undergrowth below. There's a ruckus of leaves.

Tōru leans forward, a hand against his forehead like he's tracking a home run, and Hinata blanches.

"That was so bad," comments Tōru.

"Th- there's a path down there. I can get it."

"Seriously? You realise it's nearly four, right? Gonna be able to get back home in time?"

"Sh-- shut up!" Hinata's blush returns on full blast. "I - I don't think the falcon would be able to eat three mice. It doesn't matter."

"If Tobio-chan saw that aim he would cry."

"Don't put Kageyama and crying in the same sentence."

"Aw, but I was going to tell Chibi-chan about how Tobio bawled his eyes out after Oikawa-san refused to teach him how to serve!"

Hinata squints. "Somehow ... that doesn't sound like it happened, grand king."

"Ch - Chibi-chan!" Tōru cries, reeling back in shock. "A-Are you questioning my integrity? My ability to remember the best moment of my life?"

"Nn- no!"

Pause.

"... maybe ..." Hinata rubs his nose through the face mask, and Tōru makes a note to never touch that hand again. "I mean, I can't see him doing that. He was kinda ... pissed off all the time when I met him in junior high."

"He definitely was," Tōru agrees. "And you know who he hated the most?"

"Who?"

"Me, of course."

Hinata gasps, on cue. Tōru waves a hand dismissively, thinking of Hanamaki again. Hanamaki really knew how to speak with his hands.

"But you're his senpai!" says Hinata.

"Aren't I?" Tōru bemoans. "It's really shameful. I didn't want to teach someone like him, you understand?" He pauses to give Hinata the opportunity to nod. Hinata does. "And so, what he did after the rejection, he decided to copy me."

"Uooooaaahhhh," says Hinata. He's still bobbing his head up and down. "That's what you meant when you said that he gets everything from you."

"Yup, yup. That's exactly right! And see, he kept copying so much that he _became_ me. That's why he hates people who say one thing and do something else. Can you keep a secret?"

Hinata nods again. Or, continuing his nod, since he never stopped. His eyes are wide and hungry.

"You see," says Tōru, "Tobio-chan has a ton of self-esteem problems. He's actually really hugely shy. Have you noticed?"

"Hating people ... oh." Hinata blinks. "Is that to do with why he had so many issues in the team?"

Tōru pauses. He unpicks a handful of stitches in Hinata's tapestry, materialises new threads, and adjusts patterns and projections again.

"I thought you said you worked it out, Chibi-chan," he tells him.

"I did!" says Hinata. "But, only that Kageyama's problems had to do with Tajiri-kun, so getting rid of him would fix everything."

"Did it?"

"Yeah. Kageyama's back to normal now."

"Soooo, Chibi-chan?"

"Mmnh?"

Gossip King Oikawa Tōru flashes perfect teeth and a victory sign.

"Give me that salary."

Request made, Tōru folds his arms and nods to himself. Good work, good work. Nothing more satisfying than a job well done --

A lump appears in his peripheral vision.

"I only have one mouse left," says Hinata.

Tōru looks at the lump. It's a fuzz. It doesn't even have the decency to wriggle a little.

"Keep it," says Tōru, suddenly feeling like his teeth need to be cleaner. "Or toss it to the bird again. That last throw was _te-_ rri- _ble_ ~"

The lump draws back. Hinata doesn't react to the jibe. Tōru doesn't mind; his projections are still fine. Instead, a non-committal sound chirps from Tōru's shoulder.

Tōru rolls his eyes and looks down. Hinata is staring out at the mountains, and Tōru wonders if he's refusing to meet his eyes.

"Are you thinking about what to do now that you know Tobio's deepest secret, Chibi-chan?" says Tōru.

"Aaaah," says Hinata. "Was I that obvious?"

_Not all the time._

"There's no need to worry, you know," Tōru tells him.

"But ..."

"It doesn't mean anything's _different_. Just give him some extra space when you're not playing volleyball and wait for him to come to you whenever he's ready. You don't need to change anything else. He might realise I'm the one that told you."

"... oh."

"Yup."

"Oh."

"Yup --"

"Grand king," says Hinata. "It's not like you _had_ to tell me."

"Of course I did," is Tōru's easy response. Hanamaki even has an appropriately earnest hand gesture to accompany it. "You're Tobio's partner! As Tobio-chan's great senpai, I have to make sure he's being looked after correctly."

Hinata doesn't answer.

For a moment, Tōru wonders if he'd accidentally made Hanamaki's backstabbing hand motion, but a replay of the event shows that _no_ , the sideways flap is fine. But what the replay does tell him is that he should look at Hinata's eyes --

Though Hinata is looking away, at the landscape without any of the landscape reflected back in his gaze, his eyes are intense and focused and glowing with light from something Tōru cannot see.

When did it start? Tōru doesn't know. Hinata's body language and breathing cycles have stayed constant. Tōru waits for the moment where Hinata will surprise him, channelling the instincts closer to precognition through his unpredictable aura --

Hinata takes a breath and says:

"You're a really nice person, grand king."

Tōru stills.

Tōru stares.

_You're a really nice person._

There is a trick.

Where is the trick?

Where is the message behind the obvious ...?

Nothing hangs in the air.

...

There is no threat there.

Less than a second has passed. Tōru's backup generator splutters as it whirrs to life. Recovery is near-instant; his bank already contains a collection of statements for similar transactions.

"Of course I am, Chibi-chan," he says. "Are you ever going to throw that last mouse?"

_Divert.  
_

Hinata sniffles, coughs, sniffles twice, then finishes the strange ritual by giving Tōru a silly grin.

"Yeah!"

 

 

 

 

The third mouse lands on the ledge. The falcon notices it fall, but pauses and nudges it with its beak instead of pouncing.

Talons lash out.

The eyes are ripped off and eaten.

 

 

 

 

The two of them start their trek down the mountain, from the forest of trees to a river of train tracks dotted by puddles of buildings. Hinata Shōyō buzzes as the sun tilts closer and closer toward the horizon, his radiant intensity only eclipsed by the powerful wind which rose from the valley as soon as they'd turned to leave. Tōru has seen him on the court and Tōru has seen him off it. He doesn't need Iwaizumi's common sense, and doesn't need his help to unravel the unknown.

Hinata's entire body jolts when he sneezes.

For all the nature he is part of, Hinata Shōyō is human.

Tōru doesn't need Iwaizumi.

Hinata Shōyō is nothing more than a different type of predictable, which means Tōru can work out how.

 

 

 

 

It's because Tōru is trailing that he notices a strange quirk, one which Hinata hadn't demonstrated on the way there.

"I didn't know Chibi-chan needed to maintain his appearance," says Tōru.

It's the fifth time that Tōru has checked himself out -- his hair is windswept, but the more windswept it gets is the more glamorous he becomes -- and the fifth time he found Hinata's face looking in the glass beside him.

Hinata jumps and hastily jerks back from the window.

"I-- I'm not!" Hinata squawks.

"No, you're not beautiful enough at all," Tōru shoots idly.

It's an Iwaizumi line, guaranteed to return a smack on the head or criticism on Tōru's shallow personality. His aim is off. Hinata's lips bunch up into a wrinkly mess and he furrows his brows.

"You're really aggressive today," he receives.

Has he? "It's a sign of trust, Chibi-chan. Relationships so good they have quarrels."

"Oh!" Hinata exclaims. "That's a dialect!"

"Saying."

"Yeah! That! _Saying._ "

Tōru rolls his eyes. "Are you going to be my parrot?"

"Why not?" And Hinata peers at Tōru with wide eyes that are marginally less uncomfortable every time. "Kageyama's really strong 'cause he copied you all the time. I need to get stronger. 'Specially 'cause I switched positions an' the Spring Nationals are coming fast."

It takes a moment before Tōru stops dismissing the sentence and pays attention.

"No more middle blocker?" says Tōru.

"Nope."

"What did ... What are you ...?"

"Wing spiker."

Tōru's world is suddenly very quiet.

"Wing spiker? Which?"

"Wing spiker." Hinata nods. "Left."

Tōru finds that both he and Hinata have stopped walking. There is nothing to Hinata, least of all his strange stare and molten eyes. Startling once, gimmick thrice.

The first thing that Tōru says, is:

"Are you _stupid?_ "

"Eeehh?" says Hinata. When Tōru doesn't respond immediately, he continues, "Well, coach says that I have to keep pretending to be middle in any of our matches, but --"

"That's exactly it. Even your coach isn't taking it seriously."

"Eeeh?"

"The only time for you to gain experience is during matches, no?"

"But ..."

"Did he say it was a trick?" Hinata remains silent. "He's a lot more conservative than he seems to think. Just like you're a lot more stupid than I thought. There's no way you can make it as wing spiker by Spring Prelims. Forget it."

Hinata puffs himself up. There's a low rumbling that sounds mostly like snot. "I'm really serious about this, grand king."

"And I care, why?"

"Sugawara-san said that the ace is who the setter turns to in a pinch."

Instinct in the back of Tōru's mind twists in warning, but Tōru ignores it. Mr. Pleasant can no longer surprise him.

"So what?" Tōru asks.

"So then," says Hinata, like _the sun is hot_ or _the stars are far_ , "I can get you to set for me."

Air rises from Tōru's stomach and into his throat. It bubbles and boils and overflows into a bark, pushes past Tōru's lips --

Everything falls into place.

Tōru laughs.

 _This_ is who he'd been wary of? Hinata Shōyō, and the thought processes that were so consistently uncertain?

Hinata thinks like Tobio thinks. He's simple, though he displays flashes of inspiration, but even they will not reflect the unreachable genius that Kageyama Tobio has.

Tōru laughs, and laughs, and forgets why he's laughing.

Hinata is radiating visible ripples of irritation by the time Tōru finishes. Tōru returns his laziest smile.

"You have a very interesting logic, Chibi-chan," says Tōru, despite knowing that Hinata wouldn't know which context to pick from the vagueness. And Hinata doesn't -- his mood subsides a little once Tōru has finished laughing, and is replaced by brows furrowing in confusion. "So, I suppose you didn't understand what I meant when I said that Tobio is shy, did you?"

Hinata blinks. "... No? Something about self-esteem? I don't even think he can write 'self-esteem', so ..." Hinata must have seen something in Tōru's expression because he hastily adds, "but I did get it when you said I should give him some distance. I won't tell anyone you told me he's shy either. So if I do that, does that mean you'll toss for me?"

Tōru tosses his head. "No way!"

"Awwwwwwh. You suck." The rest of Hinata's words devolve into grumbling. _Didn't even get to hit a volleyball today_... _I was so sure_ ... mutter mutter, _I bet you tossed for Igumi-san all the time when you were at Seijō ..._

"Chibi-chan," says Tōru.

"Mmnh?"

"Are you actually going to start giving Tobio-chan some space?"

"Well, sure," Hinata replies. "You said that's what he wants, right?"

Patterns begin to draw themselves and possibilities arrange into colour-coded lines.

"Iwaizumi left some equipment at my place," says Tōru. "There's a spike trainer there. Do you want it?"

"Eeeh?! But doesn't -- doesn't Igumi-waizumi-san need it?"

"No way. He outgrew it in eighth grade. Maybe you can find some use for it. I don't know."

Tōru doesn't mention that Iwaizumi couldn't bring any of his equipment with him to Tōkyō. He's living in a tiny apartment with his parents and extended family, and could only bring his clothes and computer and a single volleyball.

Hinata's eyes are wide. "R ... Really?"

"Sure," says Tōru. "If you keep your word about wanting to help Tobio-chan, then I'll keep mine. And I _always_ keep my word, I'll have you know."

Hinata has long bounded away in enthusiasm by the time that Tōru finishes talking, leaving Tōru to slowly play catch-up until the two of them return back to the train station.

The train station emerges and Hinata bounds into the air once Tōru reaches his side. He rattles off questions faster than Tōru can answer them -- "Do you live near Seijō? I'll text you when I can go pick the stuff up, 'kay?" -- and Tōru smiles and nods and waves a hand dismissively.

"Thanks for showing me your town, _Hinata-sensei_ ," says Tōru.

Hinata's blabbering vanishes in an instant.

"You ..."

Tōru turns around as he crosses the threshold. "Hmm ~?"

Eyes glowing, skin shining as gold as his hair in the sun dipping toward the horizon, body language wide like he's about to rocket forth at any second --

Slowly, Hinata lifts a hand to his mouth, and his littlest fingers curl around the edge of the face mask like he's forgotten it's there.

"You said my name," he says.

 

 

 

 

Is it really the first time?

The wind styles Tōru's hair and runs across his face as he boards his train.

 

 

 

 

There are eight messages too many from his sister when he turns on his phone. _Had date, go away_ , he sends without looking at the message history or waiting for it to load, because he doesn't care. It takes more than a day off the radar before she resorts to sending things that are incriminating.

The train buckles and chuckles, and the clouds outside race across the horizon line against a backdrop washed with purple and blue.

A beacon by Iwaizumi's name announces that he has finally replied.

 

##### Me

> Tobio and Hinata Shōyō appear to be fighting. I have once ruined Tobio's outlook, and Hinata is his partner. 
> 
> Ethically, is it incorrect to pursue Hinata? If those should be my whims. 
> 
> what is the best option?

three days ago _(read)_

##### Iwaizumi Hajime

> you're making bullshit again

15:28

> It depends on the type of person deciding.

15:40

> good try

15:59

> i didn't know you could fall in love

16:14

> `_[deleted message]_`
> 
> `_[deleted message]_`

16:22

> who am i kidding

17:41

Tōru sits back. The phone is put down. Perhaps his heart should be fluttering, should skip a beat, there ought to be butterflies infesting his skin. He closes his eyes and the train vibrates beneath him.

...

`sorry, iwai`

_"Don't apologise to me."_

...

Tōru's forgotten his lip balm. There's salt on his lips.

Erase.

...

` ~~this isn't~~ `

...

...

Delete.

The carriage is oddly fragrant. Lilies.

Delete.

 

 

##### Me

> Three days, Iwa-channnn ~? where were you?

18:11

 

 

 

It's the middle of the night when Tōru's phone buzzes. The house is asleep - if Tōru breathes out, nothing breathes with him. His pillow smells light and vanilla with a hint of earth, the same as his soap and shampoos.

Tōru doesn't want to move.

Stray synapses scrabble together and long fingers search for his phone.

 

> From: Fantasy  
>  Subject: RE: Booking
> 
> `Where are you?`

> From: Fantasy  
>  Subject: RE: Booking
> 
> `Will you be coming pls?`

> From: Fantasy  
>  Subject: RE: Booking
> 
> `Hours since the time. It place the register for you cost very lots all because you. I'm sad I am expect I waiting ... really so horrible Oikawa-san. You are worst. Hope one day I want realise fans to care your kind of person and not want I to you again.`

 

It's not Iwaizumi.

A headache emerges, as sleep rests its weight on his chest and growls at the energy needed to decode whatever that last message means. He could do it -- of course he could.

Tōru could unravel it.

But Tōru has morning shift on Monday, and the time ruthlessly glares 00:57 from a too-bright screen.

He rolls over in his blankets and blocks her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ► [dream creator](http://vocaloid.wikia.com/wiki/Dream_Creator) (oi-kun's names are all vaguely meaningful 8#Prince songs ww)


	8. Planned and perfect (本当に残念だね)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♦ Planned and perfect (That's quite a shame, there)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ※ Thank you to lee-senpai for helping identify last-minute goofs.  
> ※ Japanese familial titles (okā, etc,) are assumed knowledge.

 

 

"Iwaizumi-kun," said six-year-old Oikawa Tōru, "what are you doing?"

Scritch. Scratch.

"I wanna give Momo a proper send-off," said Iwaizumi.

Scritch. Scratch-scratch.

"By drawing with a stick in the sand at the park?"

The scratching stopped.

"No. Oikawa. Here."

Iwaizumi shifted, and Tōru peered around. The sand in front of him was heaped into a little mound like a small cake. Iwaizumi's oversized grade schooler handwriting stuck out, scrawled below it.

"Huuuuuh," said Tōru.

Iwaizumi offered the stick. "You can write something."

"Nah. That's lame."

"Okā-san says it's bad to disrespect the dead," said Iwaizumi with all the authority of an almost seven-year-old, when a month between birthdays meant everything about who was older and more senior. "Traditions exist for a reason."

He stood up. He was taller than Tōru. He stared Tōru down with pointy, narrow, baby-fat squinting eyes.

Tōru shook his head. "I wasn't."

"Were so!"

"Nuh-uh."

" _Yeah_ \--"

"I wasn't! I helped Saki-nē's drama club rehearse the funeral in their next play, you know. This isn't cool like that at all."

Iwaizumi let the stick fall to the ground.

"Funerals?" Iwaizumi asked.

"Funerals." Tōru licked his lips. "Y'know, the wakes."

"With those tables with tons of flowers?"

"Yup."

Iwaizumi frowned. "No lilies."

"We don't need lilies," Tōru agreed. "Wanna do it?"

The tension in Iwaizumi's arms evaporated into relief. Iwaizumi nodded.

"'kay."

Tōru looked around the park. It was small, plain, with trees thin and withered like dragon whiskers, and children's play equipment jutting like landmarks out of the terrain. A swing set rose tall and triangular like Mt. Fuji. A slide that was blue and wavy formed a river.

 _We need supplies,_ Tōru thought.

He nudged the stick on the floor with one foot. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it near my house."

"Huuuu. 'Kay. Let's go to the other park with the big oak tree, the one you said you found the massive beetle on. Momo liked that beetle, yeah?"

"Yeah." Iwaizumi hesitated. "Okā-san doesn't want me being out too late."

"It's fine," said Tōru. "We can stop by my place and get Kā-chan to cover for us."

"But ..."

"Don't worry, don't worry. You're older, Iwaizumi-kun, but I'm smarter, remember?"

And so they went.

Tōru neglected to mention that there would be food involved. When he walked out of his house with two sunhats and a small bag, even Iwaizumi's frown twitched a little when Tōru handed him a kashiwa-mochi.

A sunhat was plopped much less considerately onto Iwaizumi's head of hedgehog hair.

"Gah --" Iwaizumi spluttered, mouth full of red bean paste.

Tōru put his own hat on at a stylish, jaunty angle.

"Now we match!" he proclaimed.

Disgruntled eyes peered out from below Iwaizumi's brim.

"Is this ... part of the funeral thing too?" said Iwaizumi.

"Sure," Tōru agreed. "The eating is a bit later. But the important bit is that we eat it outside of the funeral so it doesn't get tainted by evil spirits."

"Ohhhhh. Okay."

"I couldn't get any chopsticks though."

"Chopsticks?"

"Yeah. Kā-chan wanted to know why I was taking them."

"Is that bad?"

Tōru gasped. "We can't tell people what we're doing!"

"Why not?"

"What if they bring lilies?"

Iwaizumi shut up.

So, they stopped at Iwaizumi's place for two pairs of chopsticks. Tōru snuck a small bowl out with him, hidden in his clothes.

Iwaizumi's porcelain was prettier.

The two of them ended up at the edge of the woods, with the giant oak tree that sat on a crescent of grass. They wandered into the shade where the trees shielded them and they could hover out of sight. Iwaizumi put down the bug-hunting net he'd grabbed. Tōru thought the decision was useless since it was too early in the season and neither of them brought a cage, so they wouldn't be able to keep another giant beetle even if they caught one, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Just like a good friend.

Tōru cleared his throat. _Hr-hrmm._

"First you do matsugo-no-mizu," said Tōru, rummaging in his pack. "The wetting of the lips. It's gonna be hard 'cuz we don't have Momo's body, so we need to pretend. Here, give me your hand."

Iwaizumi's pudgy hand stuck out between them, and Tōru tipped water from a water bottle onto his fingers. Iwaizumi wasn't expecting it, so he moved, and a dribble of water tumbled into the dirt below. Tōru didn't mind it since he succeeded in dampening Iwaizumi's fingers, and proceeded to wet his own.

"What happens is, you're meant to put water on their lips as soon as a person dies. This is 'sposed to be like, if they don't drink it, it means they're dead for real. Saki-nē used cotton on a stick but we can just use our hands."

Iwaizumi's hand stuck out again, dry, and Tōru noticed a wet splotch on his shirt. Tōru reached up to re-wet Iwaizumi's fingers and bit back a sigh. There was an expression he overheard Iwaizumi's mother saying to his mother after having to repeat something, that Iwaizumi was a slow sort of child. Tōru thought Iwaizumi was really fast, because his legs were growth-spike long, and he was really coordinated. Everyone at school always wanted him on their team when playing sports. Iwaizumi couldn't help it if his physical awesomeness meant that Tōru got to be a million times more handsome and more awesome in brains, duh. And Tōru's body would catch up to him in no time.

Both boys reached out, focused their imaginations, and waved their hands in mid-air.

...

Tōru blew a raspberry.

"This is not gonna work," he proclaimed.

Wide, curious eyes blinked down at him. "But ..."

"Let's skip everything that needs Momo's body."

"A ... are you sure, Oikawa?" Iwaizumi hesitated. "I can ask Okā-san --"

"No! Don't forget the lilies!"

Iwaizumi's bottom lip quivered. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I won't," he whispered softly.

Tōru felt bad that he'd activated the waterworks, but there was no other choice. Both of their mothers got upset when Tōru and Iwaizumi played bug pick-up with chopsticks. Tōru needed Iwaizumi at school next week feeling calm and not under guilt or trauma. There wouldn't possibly be enough tissues in Tōru's pack if Iwaizumi cried before the end of the ceremony meant to make him feel better.

Plus, funerals were cool.

"Don't worry, Iwaizumi-kun," Tōru said, reassuringly, "I know what I'm doing. We trust each other, right?"

"R ... right."

Tōru held out a hand.

"Fist bump?" he asked.

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes. Carefully, he bumped Tōru's fist back.

"'Kay." Tōru straightened and wracked his brains. "There's a bit that involves an incinerator --"

"Ozaki-san has an incinerator."

"-- _but_ , we have to skip it since it's to do with crem-baiting ..." Tōru scowled, tongue unable to form the sounds his sister's could, "crem-ate-sing the body."

Iwaizumi looked confused.

Tōru pumped his fists. "You turn the body into ashes so there's only bones left!"

Very quickly, Iwaizumi blanched and recoiled. "G- eehh _?_ "

"Remember how Kā-chan got mad when I tried to pass you food on my chopsticks?"

"Un."

"That's 'cuz it's like this next bit. Kotsuage, where bones are passed into their resting place. Here, help me get some branches and stuff, like this ..."

The two of them wandered around for the next five minutes, Iwaizumi occasionally checking his collecting with Tōru to make sure his findings were fine. Iwaizumi was being very careful and very serious, relying on Tōru's instruction.

Tōru tried not to glow _too_ excitedly.

They ended up with a small puddle of dirt ("Ashes," said Tōru, as he scratched up a thin layer of topsoil), and a tiny collection of twigs meant to represent bones. There were slightly longer sticks for the legs, curved claws for a ribcage, scattered amidst tiny pieces for whatever other bone fragments would have remained. The lookalikes weren't so bad. His sister's bone substitutes were small clips from the dollar shop covered in paper.

Tōru pulled out a little box from his bag. It used to hold jellies.

"Now let's put the bones in the urn. Start with the feet! Chopsticks."

The pairs of chopsticks were distributed. Two children set to work, moving the simulacrum into its last home, crouched over a dusting of twigs and dirt in the shadow of a great oak tree. Iwaizumi's entire face squinted and squished in concentration.

When they were finished, Tōru put his chopsticks together and scooped out a hole in the ground. Tōru buried the box, and put the bowl he'd taken from Iwaizumi's place face-down over it, like a grave cover.

"We need some kinda stone marker," said Tōru.

So they scoured for an appropriate item. They found a slab of slate by the side of the road, a broken fragment of roofing tile.

Tōru was about to plant it behind the bowl when Iwaizumi held his arms out to stop him.

"That's what people write the name on," said Iwaizumi.

"I didn't bring anything to write with," said Tōru.

Iwaizumi shook his head. "I'm ... I'm gonna go home and write it and bring it back."

"We can pretend it has the name on it."

"No!" Iwaizumi squared his shoulders and rooted himself down. "We can't put that there without one."

Tōru thought really hard, and resisted the urge to kick the ground. Iwaizumi was always horrible at keeping his mouth shut. If Iwaizumi went home, he would definitely give something away. It would suck if Iwaizumi got in trouble. Tōru didn't want to do the report that Sensei wanted on his own.

"Don't argue so loud," said Tōru. "You'll upset Momo's spirit. Iwaizumi-kun, we can't leave now. It won't be good."

"But ..."

"Keep the marker. We can always come back later." 

Tōru didn't wait for Iwaizumi to agree. He put his hands together, bowed, and swung back with his words: 

"We miss you heaps, Momo-chan. Please rest well."

And the tap was punched open.

It took less than a second. Iwaizumi hiccuped his final, clean breath. Then his face filled with tears and snot which streamed uncontrollably over his mouth and down his chin, like the little French fountains Tōru saw on TV.

"I loved her," Iwaizumi sputtered, popping snot bubbles and shaking. 

"I know," said Tōru.

"I really, really, _really loved_... why did -- why did she have to die?"

"Lilies," said Tōru.

Iwaizumi shivered. "Lilies."

"Yeah." Tōru paused. "They're poisonous to cats, and Momo was roaming when Ishiwara-san's boyfriend left her flowers. Ishiwara-san and her boyfriend didn't know."

A sniffle. Iwaizumi took a great, stammering breath through his nose, tried to suck up the yuck, and still managed to leak snot down his jaw.

"I love her." A futile echo. "I miss her. I want to see her smile and roll over when I rub her stomach. I want to feel her purring next to my legs under the kotatsu in winter."

Tōru stood next to him in silence.

"It's not fair. It's not ..."

Tōru glanced at his watch.

"Momo-chan ...!"

Tōru looked up, up the oak's bark pillar branching out into a leafy sky. He looked through the small gaps and watched the clouds, some stepping-stones of tiny puffs leading an entourage of wispy spirits through a heavenly sea.

_Eight minutes._

Beside him, Iwaizumi fell forwards, scrambled for purchase through blinded eyes, bumped his fingers into the bug-catching net, and clutched the stem in palms so tight it dug into his life-line.

 

 

 

 

Iwaizumi cried.

 

 

 

 

"You should be more handsome when you confess, Iwaizumi-kun," said Tōru, exactly eight minutes later.

Absently, he shoved a wad of tissues in Iwaizumi's direction. His ankle had started to itch by the three minute mark, when Iwaizumi's mumbling had started to subside, so Tōru finally scratched it with his other hand. A disgusting noise followed after the tissues were taken, and Tōru tried to erase that memory.

"C- confess?" Iwaizumi mumbled.

"Yeah," said Tōru. He opened his mouth, about to say something about how Momo sounded more like a girlfriend instead of a cat, but when he looked up, Iwaizumi was staring at the floor and refusing to meet his gaze.

Iwaizumi wouldn't give him a good reaction like that.

Tōru decided it no longer mattered.

"Hungry?"

"Nnn."

A rumbling stomach chimed in.

"Well," Tōru began, "there's some kashiwa-mochi left. Here," and Iwaizumi held out his hands when Tōru beckoned for them, "take the leaf, don't get dirt in the rice flour or you'll grow mouldy after eating it --"

Iwaizumi jumped. "M ... mouldy?!"

"Yeah. C'mon."

Without waiting for a response, Tōru packed his drink bottle up and started walking away.

"Do you ..." he heard Iwaizumi say --

\-- and he went out of earshot.

Tōru yawned as he stepped onto the street, and chomped into his kashiwa-mochi.

 _Would have been fun to use the incinerator_ , Tōru thought. The rice cake clung to his teeth, and the oak leaf tickled the gap between his mouth and his nose. He pondered on his journey back, thinking of life and death and fire, between carefully checking roads for cars and returning greetings to those who looked out for grade schoolers and their yellow brims.

Tōru turned past the post office and into their neighbourhood.

A tumble of footsteps grew louder and louder.

" _Oikawa!_ "

Tōru looked around to see Iwaizumi brandishing the bug-catching net like he wanted to catch Tōru's head with every stride.

Tōru waved without stopping once. "Yo."

"Why didn't you --" _huff_ , "wait --" _huff_ , _huff_ , "instead of ..."

"Sorry, Iwaizumi-kun," said Tōru. "I remembered that I had to do something."

"We have to go together," Iwaizumi said. "It's dangerous to go by yourself."

Tōru lifted a hand, comeback already on his lips.

... and then a flutter of colour caught his attention.

Tōru pointed into the air.

"Aaah -- _koi!_ "

"Where?" said Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi spun. He blinked when he saw where Tōru was pointing and he blinked again when he realised his house was in front of them.

Tōru beamed and waved at the man in the air who was fiddling with something. "Oji-san! Is it already time?"

"Ho, Tōru-- Oikawa-kun!" Iwaizumi's father bellowed. He had dark hair and small eyes and when he was dressed in a suit instead of a t-shirt he became every other salaryman in Japan. He was also shorter than his wife, a small amusement which Tōru kept to himself about, since it meant Tōru with his tall household would outgrow Iwaizumi sometime soon.

Iwaizumi's father wasn't short here, standing on the top of a ladder as he installed the Iwaizumi family's carp streamers on their roof. 

"Hello, Oji-san!" Tōru chirped back. He ignored the slip-up with his name, reminding himself (again) that he'd look all tall and grown up soon enough, and turned to Iwaizumi with a smug smile. "Heh heh, do you remember what _koinobori_ are for, Iwaizumi-kun?"

Iwaizumi blinked over the edge of the oak leaf smeared with dirt. "Carps swim upstream so it means strength. 'cuz Children's Day is tomorrow."

"Good job, Hajime," said Iwaizumi's father.

Iwaizumi smiled a little. "Thank you, Otō-san."

Iwaizumi's father nodded indulgently and climbed down the ladder.

"Are the two of you heading somewhere?" he asked.

"Yes," said Tōru, before Iwaizumi could say something stupid. "We're going back to my house. Kā-chan said it's okay and Oba-san knows already."

"Good, good." Iwaizumi's father nodded. "You've grown up so fast, Oikawa-kun. Very responsible. Hajime, you know when you need to get home?"

"Yes, Otō-san."

The giant fish-printed windsocks swam in ethereal waves.

Tōru stood on his toes and waved goodbye.

After the corner at the end of the block, Iwaizumi scrunched up the oak leaf with one of his little hands. He walked while staring at the ground in front of him, trusting Tōru to lead the way. Tōru went ahead and wondered what his mother was making for dinner.

"I want Momo to be strong," Iwaizumi murmured.

"I'm sure she is," Tōru told him. He stopped for a moment, then added, "you were really strong today too."

"Really?"

"Really," Tōru repeated, a little too earnest compared to the king which said the same to his sister's character during the play. _Less eager next time_ , Tōru jotted mentally. After rehearsals, she'd asked him how he liked the performance, and when Tōru said he thought all the fake crying after her character's soulmate died was stupid and a waste of time, she thwapped his head and said, _"I'd better not hear anything like that getting back to me from your friends, you little heartbreaker."_

Iwaizumi's nose twitched. He squared his shoulders. He scrubbed at his face and erased away the last traces that he'd been crying.

"Thank you," said Iwaizumi.

Tōru mirrored the faint smile and pulled it even wider.

 

 

 

 

"Iwa-chan," nineteen-year-old Tōru says, as soon as the line opens, "what are you doing?"

It's been a week. A week since seeing Hinata Shōyō, which has passed like any other week, day by day. Public transport, squeezed with several hundred people inside an aluminium jacket, hurtling across metal tracks. Work -- standing on his feet the whole day, looking attractive, being gracious to the customers which were his gods. Shuttling back up the tunnels, going home.

And now it is Sunday again.

Tōru's lying on his back, on a futon freshly sunned, feet propped up against a pillow which has made its way atop his low desk. There's an Iwaizumi in his room, the Iwaizumi from middle school. The navy in his jersey has faded, bleached by time, his hair and legs barely more than shadows. He's a first-year, translucent and intangible. His distance is one where he hasn't even commented on the pore strip over Tōru's nose. He's been there for a couple of days, ever since Tōru called on him.

Even now he's staring, unmoving, watching over the side of the room. Shoulders hunched, compressed by nostalgia.

"Iwa-chan ...?" prompts Tōru.

Across the phone call, the real Iwaizumi grunts back in what Tōru presumes is a hello.

"You seem stressed," Toru says helpfully.

"The school is holding mock exams," Iwaizumi replies.

"Is that code for 'The wonderful Oikawa-san did put his time aside to call me, and I am forever thankful for his kindness --'"

Iwaizumi cuts him off with, "I don't have time to fill your glass today, Oikawa," and not only is that more than enough for Tōru to notice something wrong, it sends more than enough information in tone and word choice for Tōru to identify the problem.

"Is it mathematics?" says Tōru. "Or history?"

"... mathematics."

"Not going to ask me how I knew?"

"I don't need to ask the slime that managed to pass some exams by predicting the teacher."

"Ah ~ That's still one of my favourite rumours." The following pause is mostly for dramatic effect, to better let the implications sink in. "Kumiko-chan's answers are incredibly easy to copy."

Something clatters.

"You're an absolute shit."

"Did wonders for my mystique, don't you agree?"

"So you -- how many? _How many_ did you cheat through?"

"Enough," Tōru skirts.

"... You don't remember."

"There's no need to. Exams are all useless. You live, try your best, and you die."

The ghost of Iwaizumi fidgets.

"..." says Iwaizumi.

An emotion manifests like a vice. It tightens at the base of Tōru's spine, pinching nerve and skin and bone.

Tōru bats the itch and it disappears without scab or scar.

"..." Iwaizumi says again.

\-- which means Tōru expects to learn something, can not read the silence, and Iwaizumi imparts nothing.

How annoying.

"Now, now," says Toru, with great airs. "Don't be like that. Wouldn't want you to make a fuss and get sent into the hallway, Iwa-chan."

The fidgeting stops.

"That happened _once_."

"Of course it can happen again. Who knows, with Iwa-chan involved."

"Shittykawa," says Iwaizumi, in the calm before he launches himself at Tōru's face, throat all tense and muscles all coiled, "I don't have _time_ for this."

"Then mix me a drink," Tōru suggests. "What is it like, with two parts stress and one part despair?"

"It's like your face after I punch you for asking such a stupid question."

" _Kyaa --!!_ Iwa-chan, so scary ..."

Tōru wonders if he should mention how Iwaizumi sounds like a wild animal when he's forcing himself to take deep breaths through clenched teeth, but decides against it. Just like a good friend.

"Asskawa. What do you want?"

"Me?" Tōru says, innocent and falsetto-cute. "Don't _you_ want to hear about the date I went on with Chibi-chan last weekend ~?"

There's silence.

Tōru continues. "It was so romantic! We fed birds, even. Falcons are a lot more interesting than ducks - he really is a kid after my own heart, wouldn't you agree --"

Iwaizumi's end is still quiet. How odd. Has Iwaizumi muted Tōru?

"Iwa-chan. Earth to Iwa-chan. Cheery?"

The real Iwaizumi exhales a plume of static, just as the ghost clenches a thin, translucent fist. _No_.

"So you asked me if you _should_ go out with him, but got my messages _after_ you went out with him."

"Yes." Tōru has no idea where Iwaizumi is leading them. "But you took too long to reply."

"Don't change the subject."

"Okay," Tōru agrees. "So? What's wrong with getting your messages later?"

There's a rustling at the other end. It sounds like crinkling paper. Iwaizumi's notes? Maybe.

"You're an _absolute shit_ ," Iwaizumi growls.

"I just wanted to let my best friend know what's going on."

"Don't pretend that you care about my opinion."

"Of course I care, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi scoffs. "I've heard you say that. You've said it enough times in that same fucking tone before you dumped your chicks because they were starting to notice you're a fucking jerk."

"Don't be silly, Iwa-chan. I've only had _one_ girlfriend, and _she_ wanted to break up first! Even the rumour mill never had anything bad to say about my wonderful being."

"I wonder why," Iwaizumi says dryly.

Tōru performs one of his best sparkle-inducing poses. "Because I'm an angel!"

Iwaizumi's ghost turns to look at Tōru, then, and gives him wide eyes set in an incredulous stare.

Tōru sticks his tongue out.

The ghost rises on legs no longer intangible and hazy.

Yet, despite standing on it's feet, the ghost doesn't make an approach, and Tōru's cheeky expression barely keeps back a frown. Not yet.

Not yet.

Over the line, the real Iwaizumi has made an incomprehensible noise. Some sort of tiger mating with a tengu in the middle of a tornado, or whatever. Actually, Tōru never knew human vocal chords could do that. It seems like prep school in Tōkyō has helped Iwaizumi pick up more than useless knowledge.

Tōru mentions this.

"What the fuck," Iwaizumi remarks.

"Yes," agrees Tōru. "Very fuck."

Iwaizumi realises the set up too late, makes a choking noise, and Tōru hears paper crumpling again. Is Iwaizumi's face red? What a shame that he's so far away.

Iwaizumi's ghost sends a face-cleaving scowl that tickles Tōru's insides and ushers bubbles through his skin.

Tōru decides he'll be generous today.

"Fine, fine ~" he says. "Next time I'll wait for Iwa-chan's response before going on a date again. This is the first time we've been apart in twelve years, anyway. Don't blame me. I'm used to Iwa-chan punching me in the nose immediately."

"Don't make me sound so violent," Iwaizumi grumbles.

"Okay. Headbutting demon Iwaizumi-san."

" _Shittykawa_. Don't play dumb. 'What's the right thing to do' ...? That's just 'What bullshit can I spit back if people start asking questions.'"

Tōru pokes at the pore strip on his nose idly, wondering it it's dried. Almost. Iwaizumi's ghost twitches.

Almost.

"It's not bullshit if it's the truth, Iwa-chan."

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi says flatly, "what do you want."

"Who says I want something?" Tōru asks, innocently.

"You would have changed the topic if you didn't."

"I _have_ changed the topic," says Tōru, and he rolls onto his side. He's facing the ghost, now, and the half of his room in half-tidied disarray. "Wanna guess?"

"No."

"Need help with mathematics?"

"Only if you've miraculously learnt calculus since the last time we were together."

"Never mind ~"

"Then be quiet so I can study."

Tōru makes a long, thinking sound. "It's like you _want_ me to bother you, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi snorts.

"You always bother me. It won't make a difference if we're able to hear each other or not."

"That's so romantic ~"

"Shut up."

Tōru giggles.

"Feeling better, right? Made you think about something other than hanging up."

There's a clack. Iwaizumi decides not to answer. 

Tōru winks, though Iwaizumi can't see him. "We're best friends, aren't we, Iwa-chan?"

Pencil sussurantly scratches against some paper. More paper shuffles as Iwaizumi consults notes, narrated with the faint rumbling of Iwaizumi's frustration. He's on loudspeaker.

Iwaizumi has returned to work instead of giving an answer.

Tōru rolls onto his stomach and then onto his feet, accidentally knocking his pillow to the ground. He patters across the floor, then crouches beside the very solid spirit standing. The spikes of middle school Iwaizumi's hair only manage to reach his chin -- still taller than Hinata Shōyō.

A mix of Iwaizumi's belongings and Tōru's collection of study materials and magazines are all piled up together in front of his feet, around his shelf, and inside cardboard boxes.

Back to business for Tōru, too.

"I guess we are," says nineteen-year-old Iwaizumi, stuck in Tōkyō.

Tōru puts the phone on his shelf and switches to loudspeaker too. His lips are licked, and a small smile curves around.

"Let's clean this up, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi's pencil scritch-scritches. Iwaizumi's ghost nods beside him.

Tōru talks while he works. Keep. Dispose. Dispose. Keep. Oh -- there's the spike trainer, and Tōru tosses the volleyball attached to two elastic ropes toward where the futon would be behind him. The absence of a crash tells him his aim is good enough. Dispose.

Dispose.

Tōru pauses over a very specific textbook, shakes it, and pauses very carefully over the magazine once hidden in its pages.

"Hey, Iwa-chan, remember the magazine the alumni got you because they misinterpreted our most wonderful conversations? The one with the keyhole --"

Iwaizumi chokes.

" _Burn it._ "

"Wow, Iwa-chan, you have no taste in magazines."

"Normal people prefer the non-ero kind."

"Such a prude ~"

"Everything you touch is a turn-off."

"Iwa-channnnn," Tōru pouts, "you keep implying I've been everywhere, stop spreading lies."

"I hate you."

"Keep," Tōru decides. "I love you too."

Iwaizumi falls silent. Tōru sorts out their belongings some more, letting soft affirmative or negative hums dictate Iwaizumi's opinion. The ghost occasionally gestures its own input, but spends most of the time watching over them.

"... Hey," says Iwaizumi.

Tōru takes note of the tension, considers Iwaizumi's stress levels, and throws some random papers away.

The ghost shifts and glances aside.

"What is it, Iwa-chan?" Tōru asks.

"You really _were_ relying on the invitation letter to get you into college."

Tōru has stilled. His brows are sliding downwards. The tension is that of a warning.

His eyes begin to darken.

"Hmm ~?" he asks lightly.

"I know you heard me the first time, Shittykawa," says Iwaizumi, "I told you. Stop playing dumb. Drop it."

"... Okay. Just for Iwa-chan."

\-- and the corners of one smile unfurl. One mask slides sideways the way a poster slides after losing half its pins, off a door which is clean, one door, which has become stained by paint and repaint and paint and overpaint.

Sanded and primed and repainted the same colour.

Graciousness clangs in a vacuum: a machine counting coins. Til the currency counted.

"Happy now?" says No Title Oikawa Tōru. His voice resonates deep in his range, and chest, hovering eminently above his vocal folds. His arms swung wide, the pose from the _Titanic_ from a film pulled over by his sister: budding actress and DiCaprio cultist now television producer and planted firmly in that world of people who were other people and not himself, yet directing so much of himself, because his body grows where it grows. In that world.

That world ripples into focus. Pool the beats rocking hearts, sink the silk circlet reflection collection in dozens of jars the solid in the void. Butterflies metamorphosise from birth to death spun shit born again under the needle of a roulette-ticking pin.

The name of the game is choice.

"No." Iwaizumi's voice.

"You always break my heart, Iwa-chan."

"There's no heart for me to break anyway."

"Says the man with the mirror."

Iwaizumi makes a _kch_ , rumbling within his throat.

"I don't know why I bother."

'Why' is irrelevant. 'What' could have been one of many things. Tōru runs a hand through his hair. Feels the cowlick curling. A lock unlocks and one door (painted door) is closed, waiting to be opened.

'What' could have _been_ many things.

Tōru picks one. "So? Why the sudden topic?"

"Because you're a genius that flunked his exams."

"A genius that doesn't need college."

"Because you decided that exams are useless," Iwaizumi states. "Which means you're saying assessments are useless, like anything else with rankings to determine winners and losers."

"Ho? So you think that _that_ is what I decided after I lost to --"

" _We_ lost to Karasuno."

"I know there are six people on a court, Iwa-chan. After all, your lovely self is the one who taught me. Now --"

A piercing screaming tone beheads the sentence.

Tōru turns to his shelf, and sees a _Call Ended_ flashing on the dark, rectangular screen.

"Ah?"

Iwaizumi's ghost draws closer to examine it. It's dead.

"Not me," the wispy whisper.

Then the screen lit up like a flare. It will light and sizzle for twenty seconds before going out without smell or smoke, an ice cube in a hot pan, except that the phone is singing rather than burning and _Iwa-chan_ is written as the calling man. Tōru doesn't dwell on how Iwaizumi's ghost can finally speak. 

The interest is how the call is a cellular call, not through their chat application, via the Internet.

He brushes the ghost aside and answers.

"Heyyy, did your WiFi stop --"

"Oikawa-kun?"

It's not Iwaizumi on the line.

It takes less than an instant for the coils to coil and for dials to dial into position.

"Oba-san ~!" Pleasant Tōru greets his aunt, Iwaizumi's mother. A soft smile scatters shimmering stardust, voice soft and mellow like the fluffiest marshmallows, moonbeams gently twinkling as galaxies spin in the heavens afar. "Good evening! It has been a long time. You are doing well?"

"Yes, everything is fine, thank you," Iwaizumi's mother replies. "And you, Oikawa-kun? You are ... not attending university? I hear that work keeps you busy."

"No, no university. I have realised my skills lie elsewhere, and the manager is kind." Tōru pauses. To be humble, or not? "I have held my ranking as the best salesperson in the store for every month I've worked except the first."

"You're putting your high school reputation to good use," Iwaizumi's mother comments.

"Of course, or it would be a waste," says Tōru.

An understanding hum floats across the line.

"Uhmmm," begins Tōru, slowly, "Is ... Is Iwaizumi in trouble, Oba-san? Forgive my bluntness, but, please do not blame him. He misses me, is that not understandable? We were really close friends ..."

The humming softens.

"You were always so sweet, Oikawa-kun," says Iwaizumi's mother. "Hajime simply has responsibilities he needs to understand. He's had you encourage his whims for too long - too long."

"B- but," Tōru's voice quavers, and he clears his throat. "He can't help it, Oba-san. That's who he is. So please ..."

Pause.

"Two months," says Iwaizumi's mother.

Hesitation. "Two ... two months?"

"It will be nothing compared to twelve years, Oikawa-kun."

Tōru chokes back a muffled sob as the distance settles in, like distilled hope permeating through skin. "Oba-san ..."

"Oikawa-kun, Oikawa-kun," Iwaizumi's mother murmurs, "it's just a phone. You call him every two weeks. This will just be a little longer."

"Will you leave him my old messages for company, at least?" asks Tōru, the request lingering tastelessly on the edge of his tongue.

A long silence follows, filled with dreams like butterfly wings. Tōru's nose tickles as if he's buried in pollen and he raises a hand to scratch. The pore strip, he discovers, is finally dry.

"Alright," Iwaizumi's mother agrees. "I will return his SIM card and have him call when his exams are over."

 

 

 

 

#### Iwaizumi Hajime

##### Me

> [Video: Oikawa Tōru, one eye closed, winking hearts and kissing fingers held in a victory 'V'.]
> 
> [Audio: "Let you keep your apps, Iwa-chan! You owe me big time!! Lots of drinks. I want unlimited access to your mirror ~"] 
> 
> ♥

21:20

Tōru's phone buzzes just as he's peeled the pore strip off his nose.

> From: Hinata-chibi  
>  Subject: THING PICK-UP!!!!!
> 
> `Grand king!! Today ok?`

 

> To: Hinata-chibi  
>  Subject: Iwa-chan's spike trainer
> 
> `What time, Chibi-chan ~?`

 

> From: Hinata-chibi  
>  Subject: RE: Iwa-chan's spike trai
> 
> `40min`

 

> To: Hinata-chibi  
>  Subject: RE: Iwa-chan's spike trai
> 
> `k`

 

Hinata returns some mess of emoji, and Tōru stares at it for all of a second before his phone is locked and placed on the shelf again.

There's a dark slab there that isn't his phone.

It's a while until Hinata Shōyō's arrival.

...

Tōru checks his balance, then turns to the ghost in the room.

"Give me your savings, Iwaizumi-kun."

 

 

 

 

"Kā-chan," says Tōru, pausing in the door that leads to the kitchen and dining. "Eleven o'clock is your bedtime, right?"

His mother is by their small stove, dishes washed and countertop shiny, in the middle of cleaning the gas burner. She wipes a hand on her apron as she turns around and pushes bronze curls behind an ear. Her gaze flicks at the jacket over Tōru's shoulders and the volleyball in his hands before returning to his face. Even barely into her fifties, and reaching the top of his nose in height, she has a stare and a disarming line of the mouth that betrays the use of her peripheral vision. It's an Oikawa combination. It runs in the family.

Tōru blinks away the images of his sister.

"Yes, it is," says his mother. "Did you need anything?"

"I have a friend coming. He's kinda short - shorter than you - with orange hair and called Hinata." Tōru puts the spike trainer on the dining table. "Give this to him when he turns up?"

"Aaah? Sure."

As Tōru leaves the room, heading for the front door, his mother has picked up the spike trainer and examines the volleyball's elastic appendages curiously.

"Where are you going at this hour?" she asks.

"I need to get out for a while."

His mother's head pokes out into the corridor after him. "Visiting another friend?"

Tōru grabs his keys, spins them around his finger. They jingle.

"Just a walk, Kā-chan." 

He shoves his keys into a pocket and steps down into the entryway.

A small collection of awards are displayed above the shoe cabinet instead of flowers. Volleyball medals, a plaque which reads _Best Setter Oikawa Tōru_. They're beside a scholarship framed against rich umber.

He ignores the _Oikawa Saki_ written on the certificate, reaches for his sneakers, and then changes his shoes.

"Your sister is right, Tōru," his mother tells him, words inlaid with the wisdom of a knowing smile. "You need to find someone and settle down."

Tōru groans. "Not you _too_ , Kā-chan ~!"

Light laughter follows Tōru as he closes the gate and steps onto a street and crispy night air. There's a breeze tonight, smelling like shiitake and soy sauce, a musky flavour of family and feasting, and he thinks it belongs to the family two houses away which moved in when he was fourteen. They had one child in middle school and a dog with a perpetually angry face. Iwaizumi always grumbled whenever Tōru compared his looks to the dog's, but Iwaizumi would still always raise an arm in his reliable manner and give it head scratches when he passed their gate on the way home.

That dog is dead now.

Iwaizumi's cat died twelve years ago.

Tōru flicks out his phone and checks the app. The message is still unread.

Iwaizumi is in Tōkyō.

Tōru pauses at the intersection by the post office, hands stuffed into his jacket. One road is a shortcut to the park, the other leads closer to the town centre. He lifts his hood.

He heads for the town and continues walking.

 _Iwa-chan, my Iwa-chan, what do you know_? he sings to himself. The road is straight, filled with urban shadows, buildings and signs of construction filtering spirits better than salt. _Hey, Iwa-chan, come out? Tell me. Come, tell me so!_

He sings and walks and decides to loop back around. He sings and tosses up and down the slab of slate which he'd found beside one of Iwaizumi's tins. He's passed by cars and bikes, whose lights sweep the road clear of obstacles, and on his other side, he's fenced by streetlamps lingering at the edges so they can cast a path whilst keeping off it themselves.

He sings and walks and crosses a bridge which crosses a stream.

At the bridge, Tōru stops. He wanders to the edge and leans against the rail. _Dark_ , he notes, eyes trailing downwards. There's hardly a moon left, smothered by clouds, and the lamps near Tōru can't reach all the way down. Distant light illuminates the surface where the stream broadens into a river. He stretches his arms.

The slate slab slips past his fingers and falls in.

There's no splash. It's anti-climatic.

All Tōru can hear is how still it is, which means Tōru can hear more distant vehicles than the sound of moving water.

"Oops," says Tōru, now the gravestone is gone. "I wonder --"

"Grand king?"

Tōru turns around. He would never be able to mistake that voice for any other.

"Chibi-chan?"

Hinata Shōyō - because, nickname aside, it couldn't be anyone else - is different from how Tōru remembers him. He's wearing jeans instead of shorts, and while they cut off just above his ankles, they wrap around his thighs well enough that it's been several seconds and Tōru's still looking. Tōru is used to black or white or obnoxious colours, but the jumper is a shade too dark to be called bright and a degree too light to be called ashen. Hinata looks older and taller.

Hinata's holding the spike trainer.

He beams, clutches the volleyball tighter, and creates his own little bubble of sunshine.

"It _is_ you," he exclaims. "Your okā-san said you were out. Here you are! I get to thank you for this, woaah! Can you give me a toss?"

In the time up to now, from Hinata's attire to the wide eyes Tōru would be tempted to call permanent, he’s assessed everything he needs to know.

"Chibi-chan," says Tōru. His lips curl into a mockery of sincerity. "It seems like you're lost."

Hinata stiffens and a jolt runs through his body. Slowly, his eyes trail sideways, and he starts curling forwards.

"W- who?" he stammers. "Me ...?"

"The bus stop is not this way."

" _Eeh?_ How did you know I came by bus --"

Because he has no bicycle.

Because he is not dressed for riding.

Because the already slim chance that Hinata Shōyō would indeed ride his bicycle all the way to Tōru's house is made non-existent by how the pads of his feet are supporting his entire weight, which means he is exhausted.

"You're lost," Tōru states.

"... yes," Hinata admits.

"See? That was easy."

If Tōru cared for more information, he would ask about Hinata's practice. Perhaps take a guess that he'd been off Karasuno's home ground, just to test his various predictions further --

But Tōru hates coincidences. He has other business to take care of that evening.

So Tōru reaches into his pocket and pulls out his smartphone.

"Try some GPS," he says, waving it about.

Hinata shakes his head. "Only got a clamshell."

"No apps?" exclaims Tōru, in mock horror.

Hinata shakes his head again.

"Give it here, then," Tōru tells him, and doesn't bother hiding the smugness in his voice. "I'll let you take a photo of the map with your camera."

Hinata sparkles, thanking him profusely. He joins Tōru by the edge and does so.

A minute passes.

"Chibi-chan," says Tōru, without looking down.

"Mmmmhm?" says Hinata's voice.

"This is the part where you go home."

"I'm waiting for you."

Tōru stares. "What?"

Wide eyes look up at him innocently. "Weren't you going to go with me?"

A beat.

Tōru isn't surprised. Hinata Shōyō displays behaviours most easily described as _clingy_ off the court, and Tōru has spent the past few weeks encouraging him. It's unfortunate that a lack of surprise is never equivalent to a lack of irritation.

Tōru keeps his expression level, picks his words, and serves. "You're _so bad_ at reading the air."

Hinata twitches.

"I'm not!" He squawks defensively. "I … um … " he flounders, tries to block. The insult scores without a second thought. "Kageyama's worse!"

"Can't ~ even ~ deny ~ itttt ~" Tōru choruses.

"S- shut up."

"'Kaaaaaaaaaaay."

Tōru moves so he can see Hinata Shōyō clearly. He's muttering at the floor. His elbows clench in and out, and his fingers unconsciously squeeze the volleyball.

Tōru examines his nails.

"Chibi-chan," Tōru remarks idly, like it has just come to him. "Could I ask a question?"

"What's it?"

"Do you have any friends?"

Blink.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Really?" asks Tōru. "There are people you _don't_ ask for tosses from all the time?"

"I don't ask my mother."

"Family doesn't count, Chibi-chan."

"... Um."

Tōru sighs. "Believe it or not, people do things other than sleeping or eating or playing volleyball."

"I _know_ that," says Hinata. One cheek is puffed -- he's not liking Tōru's belittlement. "We went out together. We saw birds."

"But you didn't have practice those days, either," Tōru points out. Hinata opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, so Tōru answers it before he can. "Sundays are off days when there's no immediate tournament, and the other time you were sick."

"Woah," says Hinata. "That's awesome how you know that."

"Thank you, but, don't try to change the subject, Hinata-kun ~" Tōru hums. "That spike trainer, do you like it?"

"I do," says Hinata automatically. He squeezes the volleyball with more than a hint of confusion. "Subject? What subject?"

"We're talking about Tobio-chan, of course."

"Oh." Pause. " _Ohhhh_. 'Cuz I mentioned he's worse. Grand king?"

"Mmmh?"

"What's a subject?"

Tōru resists the urge to sigh, and makes a note to turn the vocabulary down further. "A topic, Chibi-chan. Do you get the rest of what I'm saying?"

"Yup!" exclaims Hinata, beaming and nodding. "Your explanations always make the most sense."

"Okay," says Tōru. "Well, Oikawa-san noticed you throwing Tobio-chan under the bus suuuuuper ruthlessly. You two aren't close, are you? No matter _how_ close you look on the volleyball court together. When I saw your quick, I thought that Tobio finally found someone he could depend on, but I guess I was wrong. So --" Tōru scratches the side of his neck. "I wonder if you'll really be able to help him."

Hinata is looking at the darkness beyond the rail.

"I don't think that's right," he says. "We're not friends, yeah, but ... that doesn't ... mean ..."

He trails off into a tone oddly thoughtful. Tōru is watching, so Tōru sees the instant where Hinata's head dips forward two degrees and his pupils appear to recede into shadow. The instant when the light on his back and the outer edges of his hair catch on fire, when the wind turns a chilly night into one where Tōru wants a windbreaker because his hood isn't thick enough - the instant Hinata _shifts_ \--

Tōru raises a hand between them, five fingers splayed.

"Then," says Tōru, "give me a list of things where --"

Something very round presses into his open palm.

Behind the volleyball, Hinata is applying pressure with both hands, preventing Tōru knocking it away. His eyes are intense. Fiery and challenging.

"Grand king," says Hinata. "If I become Kageyama's friend, will you set for me?"

Tōru licks his lips. Hinata Shōyō is the perfect height to pull up by the hair. His eyes are large, expressive, and wild. Very few of Tōru's night friends tolerated kissing with open eyes.

His hand twitches.

Hinata's head tilts sideways.

"It's trust," says Hinata. "Kageyama and I ... we trust that we'll both be there, so we're partner-rivals until I beat him. Kageyama says you and Iwaizumi-san have a long bond together. You're thinking about trust, Grand king. You don't trust me enough to want to toss for me."

"So," Tōru continues, in Hinata's place, "you want to become friends with Tobio-chan, to help him on behalf of his worried senpai -- all this, so you can play volleyball with me."

"Right."

There is a door with a poster on it, and the poster is made of glass. The glass is backed by a silver lining, which means it is a door with a mirror on it, and inside the door is a bouquet of lilies smattering pollen all across the walls and all across the floors and all across a volleyball jacket discarded from great halls.

Tōru smiles.

"Okay, Chibi-chan. Then we have an agreement, so make sure you do yours -- Oikawa-san always keeps his word, you know."

 

 

 

 

There is a process. A mechanism for assembling the future out of the past and present. A tapestry of DNA woven into roots sprouting into branches and choices, segments of probability trees picked and planted and pruned to create new needles and looms.

You decided that exams were useless.

Please teach me how to serve.

Blink.

It's not a prophecy.

Your explanations make the most sense.

Do you know about the carp streamers, Iwaizumi-kun?

There are six people on a volleyball court.

Blink.

It's not magic.

Two months.

We lost to Karasuno.

Do you have any friends?

It's the mark of a cycle, a collection of neurons mating with one another, filling a silence. The creation of understanding by one whose sight surpasses singular limits, thought of and planned and perfect.

_( **there** , you reacted)_

Tōru has business to take care of.

_"Oikawa. What do you want?"_

Blink.

The volleyball has left an imprint in Tōru's skin.

Tōru shakes out his wrists. His exhaled breath is nostalgic for his pre-serve routine; spin the ball, slap it against the floorboards twice. Inhale to sync breath against feet and a thrill-beating heartbeat.

A phantom flashes at the end of the river where the horizon splits the sky.

"Found you."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 9 : Kageyama, Oikawa, and fangirls. 「 お客様は神様です。」


	9. Of Natures and Prides (お客様は神様です)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Natures and Prides (The customer is god)

The front doors chime open, and a familiar chorus sounds:

"Welcome!"

Tōru glances up from where he's rearranging some floor stock. The girl that enters doesn't note where the speaker is, the greeting ubiquitous, always in every store. She's in Tōru's area, so he tracks her hovering in the aisles and what product her gaze lingers upon. Her stride is familiar. She stops to dwell over the show of shoes that requires Tōru's attention.

Tōru stands to the side without attempting to hide his presence.

"Hello," he greets. "Can I help you today?"

She turns, and her eyes and mouth widen.

"Are you ... Oikawa Tōru?" she asks, a hand raised to cover her face but unable to hide the extent of the flush. "F- From Aobajōsai?"

Tōru blinks. "I thought so -- You are ... you're one of the girls who greeted me before matches."

" _Eiiiiyyoooooo_ ," she squawks. "You remember ...?"

"I do," Tōru tells her, with a nod. A star cannot exist without his fans. "We met in my ... second year. Almost this date, two years ago. And you only came to see me once. But, forgive that I've never asked someone so beautiful, I don't believe I ever caught your name."

She stammers an introduction, face ablaze, and continues mumbling.

"... were popular at my school ..."

"Really?" Tōru raises a hand to his face, abashed. " _That_ popular? Wowww. In that case, I am deeply sorry that I've stopped playing. I apologise - I don't mean to disappoint you all."

She gasps. "So -- so the story is true? That you've stopped ...? Not -- not moved and that's why nobody's seen you ...?"

Tōru rubs the back of his neck and glances at the ground.

"Well, as you can see," he says, "I'm working here now, most gracious customer."

The title of address used by shop staff, coming from the mouth of one of her idols, has her jump. Her eyes lock on to the logo embroidered on his shirt, for one second. In the next second, she's given him a bow, and apologises incredibly politely for the situation and its insensitivity.

Tōru bows a little himself -- but in his case, it's also so he can check her shoe size and her wardrobe for any preferred brands. "Sorry, did I make it awkward? If you would like, I may stop ...?"

"Ah ..." She hesitates, but it's not the hesitation of advances unwanted. Her fingers clutch at the bottom of her skirt. Her shyness is struggling against the instincts that tell her that tall nails are to be hammered down, that drawing attention to yourself is wrong, and saying no is another form of impropriety. "I don't ... It is not awkward."

Tōru's lip quirks, an invitation to share in a secret.

"Would you like it if I am more familiar, like we used to?" he asks.

Her blush deepens.

"... Yes." A tiny whisper.

"Okay, Kumode-san," says Tōru, with a cheeky smile. "Call me Oikawa. I don't mind too."

She mumbles something that could have passed as his name. Tōru backs away slightly, hoping she doesn't faint. Tōru notes a blur in the semi reflective side of the shoe stand, one of his co-workers walking behind him. They would have been able to see his flirting.

Tōru is intending to get down to business, anyway.

"You came to buy soccer shoes, right?" he asks.

"E- eh? How did you --"

Tōru smiles kindly and winks. "I'm a setter that brings out full potential. This store prides itself on being able to fit the customer. We are a perfect match, wouldn't you agree?" He stretches out and hovers consideringly at the display. "I know all the reviews for everything here. Do you think it is a good idea if I ask you some questions, to find the one you will like guaranteed?"

"It does," she says.

"Understood," Tōru responds.

In two minutes, Tōru has grabbed a set of trainers that he's eighty percent sure will be her best preference, sixty percent profit margin regardless.

It takes less than thirty minutes to sell them to her, with a number of other upsells, each with their own outstanding turnover rates.

Oikawa Tōru really is a good reader.

"Oikawa-san," she says before she leaves, and hesitates again. "Would it be -- may I ask ... about your volleyball?"

Tōru smiles. "You may ask, Kumode-san."

"Why did you stop?"

"Why, ah ..." Tōru rubs his head. "That ... is complicated ..."

He trails off.

She jumps in the silence.

"... Ah! That is no problem -- I do not need to know, please excuse me, my apologies."

Tōru's smile becomes apologetic. "It's unfortunate that I can't tell you, and I'm sorry. However -- do you have my social media?"

"Oikawa-san's social media?" she asks, and shakes her head. She reaches for her phone. "No, no, what is it?"

Tōru tells her.

"Kumode-san, would you like a photo together?" he asks. "I will hide your face and post it."

Her face goes red and then a faint amount of blue. Tōru hasn't gone too far because she eventually agrees. The photo is taken, he crops out her face so only her mouth and chin can be seen, and he posts it with a caption that says, _Caught up with an old fan while working._ The store's colours are evident, and the design of Tōru's shirt is clear.

She will go stalking his social media later and discover that she's not the only one he's taken a photo with, but hers is the only one where the two of them have matching peace signs with their hands. She will also discover that Tōru's official excuse for not attending university is that he'd been approached by Manager Sasegawa, has a fondness for him, and wants to take a small break from playing. Most of his other fans cannot tell the difference between one extra hour or three extra hours of practice, and they don't care -- they only care so long as he is on the active roster of his team, and that his team is strong. She also plays a knee-intensive sport, so perhaps she'll recognise suggestions that he's been told by a doctor to take it easy.

There are only shallow mentions of Karasuno or Shiratorizawa.

There is nothing about Iwaizumi.

The purchases are scanned and bagged.

"I'll help you carry your bags out," says Tōru. At the entrance, he gives her a charming wave and a slight bow. "Thanks for visiting, Kumode-san. See you next time."

She leaves with a smile.

Before he gets a chance to go back inside, he sees one of his regulars crossing the street, clearly intending to enter.

Tōru likes the older ones. They have more income. This particular Obā-san is an audacious creature with fourteen grandchildren to her name. She lives with her family, and can afford to throw around her entire pension. She's always in for gift recommendations from her favourite clerk and sometimes a feel for his ass.

Tōru smiles, running through a list of stock in his brain.

"Welcome!" he greets. "What brings you to say hello today?"

 

 

 

 

In his whole life, Tobio has never needed to deal with … _it_.

Popularity.

"K- Kageyama-kun! P-- p- please give me your autograph!"

There's a girl. Her face looks like a peach, pink and the pointy end. She kinda reminds him of gymnasium wood walls because her hair is brown and straight and long and everywhere.

This isn't the first time he felt stares when taking care of business at the vending machine.

"Huh?" Tobio says.

"U-- um," she says, then falls into a bow and holds the autograph card in front of her. "Please, if you would!"

He stares at her and the card. She's stopping him from collecting his drink.

"Just one?" Tobio says.

Her head looks up. "Ah ...?"

"There are more of you," Tobio says. The girls who thought they hid themselves jump. "Is it only one? I don't have time if it's more than one."

The girl in front of him shifts.

"I ... I ..."

Tobio takes the autograph board because he's spent long enough talking already. Hinata would have beat him by now if this afternoon wasn't milk afternoon.

_Kage- yama- Tobi- o._

Tobio is aware of how bad his handwriting is. The autograph looks like a bird shit all over it. But he's not an idiot. Not completely. Sometimes Tsukishima gives him a _look_ in study sessions, says, "How do you even remember your own name?", and Tobio thinks _well_ , he sees his name three times a day. Stitched on the collar of his uniform, scrawled on the same stationery box he's used since grade school, and written on the bento prepared daily by his mother.

Tobio never says it. He uses a death stare. The four-eyed prick who says "People with the same disease hate each other" and "There are no containers on floors" like knowing fancy phrases makes him smart would get off on it for sure.

Maybe his death stare is weakening. He tries it on the girls that stalk him. Apparently it makes him 'cute'.

Tobio sort of understands. People call cats 'cute', even though all cats ever do is scratch people.

The girl thanks him profusely and bows a lot so her hair ends up as a mess instead of being straight and normal.

She runs away and Tobio doesn't have to ask her to go.

Tobio doesn't understand girls.

He grabs his drink, stabs the straw, and wanders to the club room. His stalkers are obviously because last year made the volleyball club instant celebrities. If it happens again, maybe he can find out what the others do.

Hinata and Yamaguchi are there already. Captain and Narita and Tanaka are too. Tobio wants to ignore that Tsukishima is also inside the club room but Tsukishima notices his entrance and his face instantly has that irritating back-tilted sneer.

"Oh?" Tsukishima says. "The anchor of the class average is here."

Tobio isn't an idiot. Not completely. Not enough that he and Tsukishima ended in separate classes this year. They're in the same class, cleaning roster, and neighbouring seats. Some kind of fluke. Tobio's milk intake has gone up and Tsukishima's dumb jokes don't stop serving.

Someone brown and blue is laughing at him somewhere far away.

Tobio chews the straw. When the rankings came out, his father praised him for not being last. Something about competitive spirit and being a man. Tobio drinks his milk angrily and puts his bag down.

Word contests are pointless.

The school shirt comes off and his T-shirt goes on.

"Sheesh, don't you get bored _doing_ that?" Hinata says from between them and under their chins.

Before any of them can say some answer, the door slams.

"Heyyyyyy, Chikara!" Nishinoya's voice says loudly. "Guess what I found?"

Tobio's head pops through the T-shirt collar in time to see Nishinoya stomping past his chest and dumping his bag in the room. Nishinoya searches through it.

"Your favourite idiom shirt?" Narita asks.

"Yeah," Nishinoya pulls out a ball of fabric. "This one. But that's not what I meant, yo! It's right ... under ... _ha!_ "

Captain looks with an eyebrow up. "What did you find?"

"All the first-years' club applications!"

The resulting silence is dumbstruck.

Tobio grabs his milk carton and drinks again. He doesn't know who is the most stupid person in the room.

"What," Captain says.

"Remember those study notes you gave me at the start of year?" Nishinoya asks.

A hand goes over Captain's eyes. "... They were under them. All of them. Since April."

"You betcha."

"It's _nearly Spring Preliminaries_."

"How'd ya end up with the apps anyway, Noya-san?" Tanaka says.

"No idea. I mean, Yachi-san was probably telling me something at the start of term, but ... who cares? _Members!_ " Nishinoya waves around a stack of paper.

Hinata crab-walks from where his bag is until he's next to Nishinoya and howls excitedly. "Look, Kageyama, look, look. Hey, I wonder how many there are, there's so many --"

"Seven," Nishinoya and Tobio say simultaneously.

Tobio's not expecting to be acknowledged yet Hinata ignores one of his usual screaming partners and stares at Tobio with wide eyes instead.

"Did you _count_ them?" Hinata asks.

A twitch comes from Tobio's cheek. The papers separate and slow a little when they're changing direction. Hinata never points out an observation about Tobio unless it's to make fun of him. "So what?"

"Cool," Hinata says.

Tobio has 'dumbass', 'idiot' and 'moron' all ready to set. He shuts his mouth. His chest has tightened, kinda uncomfortable.

"Whatever," Tobio mutters instead.

Meanwhile, Narita has moved closer for a look at the pile.

"It did seem like the intake was quite low for our performance last year," Narita says. He uses two fingers to count. "Ennoshita, you invited your kōhai, and Fujihara found us at the gym. If we never answered Fujihara's application that _would_ explain why he was sobbing about not being let in."

An unfamiliar voice interrupts.

"Please, beg a little less, nī-san."

Tobio swivels to find there is the last first-year Fujihara followed by another version of the last first-year Fujihara standing in the doorway.

" _Woaaaah!_ " Hinata screams next to Tobio's ear. "Fujihara has a clone!"

One of Tobio's brows twitch. There are two, but one is taller than the other because the volleyball club Fujihara is slouching. That idiot with no volume switch. Just because they look the same doesn't mean they move identical. Plus, Hinata has to be blind if they can't see the muscular definition is different.

"That's a twin, dumbass!" Tobio tells him.

"Quiet down over there," Captain orders, then looks at the doorway. "Is this a new member, Fujihara-kun?"

"Yes. Hello, that is me," the not-slouching greets. "Fujihara Seiichi, from Class 1-3. Everyone calls me Sei. I used to be in the kendo club. Nī-san said you don't have enough members. It's nice to meet you. Sorry for the intrusion. Please treat me kindly."

The room collectively blinks.

"L- likewise," Tobio choruses with everyone automatically.

The matter-of-fact-ness that Fujihara Seiichi talks, he sounds like Kunimi. But like the last time Tobio suggested someone would be like Kunimi, it turns out they're not. On the court, the spikes he makes are all angry and shoulder-back muscles cleaving. He's not one bit lazy, roaring every point when he powers through.

Also, Fujihara Seiichi is left-handed.

"Make them consistent," Coach told Tobio, so Tobio sends another toss to the same coordinate set above Sei's head. He did adjust once for the left hand thing, but stopped after that. They're playing a three-on-three to find his best fit while Yachi searches for the new membership app people. Tobio's team has both Fujiharas.

The other team is meant to be Hinata, Captain and Tsukishima, but the instant that Captain volunteered Tsukishima, the four-eyes said that Kinoshita would make a better option.

Captain and Kinoshita are a solid duo that communicate well and don't get confused over who's meant to do what. Meanwhile Hinata's receives stink really bad for a wing spiker and Tobio still wants to punch him for changing when he's stronger as the ace decoy. Selfish dumbass.

Tsukishima isn't meant to be in Tobio's field of vision, but Tobio can see him subconsciously shifting position when Hinata moves closer.

Tobio doesn't care. He's more interested in how he senses that Sei is trying to aim for Hinata. Sei has to have noticed that Hinata is the worst receiver. Sei has an aware head.

It's obvious to Tobio when Coach says he's best suited for setter.

It's not obvious to Tobio when Coach goes up to him and asks if Tobio can help try teaching.

"Hah?" Tobio says. He tried teaching people before. Apparently he sucks. _They_ sucked if they couldn't see how _obvious_ it was that when Tobio told them to look it also meant they had to remember what things were like behind them in 360. He wasn't asked to teach again after that. Well Tobio doesn't care if they don't want to listen.

Apparently Tobio agreed because Coach then asked him to give his opinion.

Tobio has opinions.

"Your ball-handling is pathetic," Tobio begins.

Coach's face goes stony and regretful.

"Your stamina needs a lot of work," Tobio continues. "You keep receiving like you're swinging. You can sense the players a bit. Your footwork is ... decent ..."

Coach's stone-faced regret starts becoming a little less rigid. Sei's expression is blandly neutral. Tobio doesn't like the quietness because he needs to think about non-volleyball things.

"Do you like volleyball?" Tobio asks.

"Nī-san asked me to help," Sei says.

"That's a bad reason to play."

"It's not my reason. I'll play because I like to win."

Tobio's vision narrows. Winning needs more than pretty words. "You train hard?"

"You're Kageyama Tobio, the superhuman setter or something like that, I think? I'll train harder than you."

"Harder?"

Sei smiles, creepy-warm like angry Sawamura-san. "Your schedule, with more to get me to your level. Nī-san says you're a prodigy player. So, I just need to match you."

A voice shrieks.

"P- Please stop picking f- fights for me, Sei."

Sei looks around and Tobio tracks his eyes. Tobio blinks because there are two Fujiharas and he didn't notice one of them appearing.

Sei's creepy smile vanishes. His face would be nice Sawamura-san, but Sawamura Daichi doesn't have mocking eyebrow lines. "Maybe when you stop stammering one day, Nī-san."

"What does that mean?" Tobio says. Something boils in the bottom of his throat. A first-year reminding him of the old captain. No ... He's being led somewhere, but it's not towards Sawamura Daichi. "You want to match me?"

Sei looks at the windows. "Kageyama-san. Have you been paying attention to the clouds and the wind and the sun? It's going to rain this evening, maybe thunderstorms around seven. Nī-san and I are from Kesennuma so we are always conscious of nature. Being a prodigy simply means you have a feeling inside you that we mortals don't. But like the weather, that doesn't mean we can't learn."

A crowd has formed. Tobio feels the space around him suddenly filled with warm, breathing bodies. Their hearts beat. They're visual noise that keeps shifting loudly when they're breathing,

the noise is a decoy. If Tobio is setting, using his force and position and angle and timing to trick his enemies, he would put the ball ... where?

Tobio would put it --

_There._

He suddenly has a headache. His teeth clench like they can bite it off. A flash of gold is in the blurry movements around him,

his peripheral vision has Hinata in it, in the crowd. Tobio lifts his head and squints. Yet Hinata doesn't go into focus. What is in focus?

Fujihara Seiichi. Himself -- Kageyama Tobio. The blue sky and trees with green leaves far beyond the window-frame. _Aoi sora._

_Aoba --_

Tobio breathes,

the horizon shifts by two hairs. To use understanding in an effort to become the best;

Sei is leading him to _his_ volleyball.

"There's a wall," Tobio says. Between talent and hard work. "The top percent."

"My ball handling is pathetic," Sei says. "Until I can get you to acknowledge I don't suck, my upper limit is the least of my concerns."

"W- what Sei is saying," Fujihara stammers, weakly putting his arms in the way. He jerks around. "Is th-- that he would be honoured to learn from y- you, Kageyama-senpai. R ... Right?"

Sei nods with zero mocking. Tobio's headache comes back.

Fujihara keeps talking for his brother. "He'll work, really work, and --"

"Please consider my aptitude," Sei says. "I will do everything I can - there is nothing in this world that cannot be understood."

Tobio's headache has started growling.

"Stop talking," Tobio grunts.

Sei blinks. "Ah."

Tobio doesn't like that blink.

"What?" he snaps.

"Nothing," Sei says while it doesn't sound like nothing one bit. "You didn't seem like the straightforward type."

Tobio frowns.

"Ah, yeah," Coach says, reminding Tobio that he can talk. "Kageyama here's brilliant, but he's absolutely instinctual."

Tobio's brow squeezes.

"I think he's insulting you, Kageyama," Hinata whispers from the crowd.

"That's definitely an insult," Tsukishima's voice corrects on lazy autopilot. "Don't mind. It's a matter of life if you look like you're thinking when you're really not."

Anything from Tsukishima's mouth is an insult. Tobio gives Tsukishima an eye-stink.

A very strong hand lands on Tobio's shoulder. On the other side, Captain's other hand lands on Sei's. Captain's eyes are dark. He's why Tobio isn't failing class. He's going to give Tobio two more pages of homework that makes as much sense as whatever.

" _You two,_ " Captain says, dangerous-slow. "Coach Ukai wants to say something."

Coach clears his throat. "Thanks."

Tobio suddenly realises that the crowd hasn't just gathered for no reason.

"Anyway," Coach says. "For those who haven't heard, Sei's best fit is Setter. He's still new to the game, so, he'll likely replace Kageyama --"

The horizon beats.

"-- after next year, depending how he goes. Welcome him in your own time. Let's talk about what happened in last weekend's Tōkyō practice games."

Coach grabs a marker. He starts drawing on the whiteboard, gives feedback on individual player movements. Karasuno's side still isn't used to Hinata's WS/MB position switching, especially Hinata. They were confused so much that Fukurodani and Nekoma's third-year setters easily tore a scattered Karasuno's defences apart.

They were beaten by clever setting. Tobio is also a setter. Tobio should have done something, done a lot more to keep the team playing in order. He can make impossible sets possible. Land the ball at the exact co-ordinates his players want it to be.

But. Sometimes,

his peripherals sense an analysing-acting understander. Sei. New to volleyball, yet observant. His body is also strong, so he should be a good setter. Tobio is to guide him. Whether Sei would be fearsome is based on future time Tobio is blind to.

Sometimes Tobio thinks what it would be like to find the _best_ set instead of a player's favourite. They're not always the same.

Tobio, really,

_Oikawa-san -- did you hate me?_

really,

doesn't like thinking about non-volleyball things,

_or did you fear me like I fear you?_

...

Tobio hates thinking about volleyball with no answers even more.

 

 

 

 

"Isa-san," Tōru calls, "need a hand?"

Hidden in the back, surrounded by boxes and clothes and drowned out by the loud grinding of the air-conditioning unit on the wall, is a small globe of privacy in which it's possible to act and talk freely.

It also means there's little point waiting for an answer if one doesn't arise immediately.

So Tōru invites himself inside while rubbing his ass.

"I see Tsukamoto-san got you again," Isa's voice remarks, from everywhere and nowhere. That means she can see him. Which means --

Tōru turns around to find his favourite twenty six year old coworker scanning barcodes behind the doorway.

"She _twisted!_ " Tōru cries in a very loud stage-whisper. He hustles over until he's close enough to note her scent, clean and flowery despite how she's spent hours on shift and at least twenty minutes in warm humidity. Tōru puts aside thoughts of how good her diet and soap collection is, and drops his voice so he can get to the point. "There's some important anniversary next month. Gifts for everybody. I could give you credit for everything else I make this month and I'd _still_ win."

"Will you?" Isa asks. Her tone is equally as quiet. "I _help_ you short notice enough, there~fore, improving my record would be paying back all those favours."

"Wow," remarks Tōru. "I didn't think _you'd_ bring that up so quickly, Angel. And at work, too."

Isa flicks her head and gives him the shoulder. She wields the barcode scanner like a rocket launcher and goes back to work. "Stop breathing into my curls and help me keep this job."

"But your neck looks very tasty like this," Tōru informs. "You know, if you went back to playing volleyball, your legs would be a lot less fatty, too --"

In one fluid motion, Isa spins around and kicks him without dropping the items in her hands. Tōru's resulting _oof_ isn't entirely for special effects. She hits harder than Iwaizumi, because Iwaizumi holds back.

The barcode scanner beeps like a point has been scored.

"Stupid Devils need to know when to keep their mouth shut," she says.

Tōru bats his eyelashes. "My sister taught me to only save my manners for ladies."

It's not really a surprise when a scuffle ensues. It's also not a surprise when Tōru wins. When it ends, Tōru has her pinned over some boxes, the scanner pointed at the skin over her ribs, and his arm halfway up her shirt.

Isa's eyes are very wide and very full of alarm.

"The-- _manager--_ will-- _notice_ ," she hisses.

"No, he won't." Tōru's leg creeps closer. "He's too crazy."

" _You're_ crazy," she tells him. "I could file for sexual harassment."

"And lose your job?"

"And lose a baby that's lost his candy." Her words are annoyed, but she's grinning. "I'll take your apology letter, and frame it, and every time you contact me at night, I'll arrest you with your favourite handcuffs and make you write it all over again against my skin --"

Tōru leaps back. His hands fly into the air on reflex, and he screeches. " _Harsh!_ "

Far too calmly, Isa returns to her feet and pulls her shirt down. Her eyes flicker to his pants.

"Weak," she says. "I didn't even get to the good part and you're already like that. What happened to Oikawa Tōru's reputation?"

Tōru shrugs. "Oikawa Tōru's already read the ending to your novel."

"Oh?" Isa holds a hand out for the scanner.

Tōru gives it to her. "The dashing criminal breaks free of his chains, and turns them against the valiant policewoman instead, because the criminal always wins. And then, he proceeds to teach her what it _really_ means to work in the law, and --"

The scanner beeps.

"Wow," says Isa, flatly. She searches through a box. "Someone really _has_ pushed your buttons."

"What?" gasps Tōru.

"You didn't notice? You only get prissy when you want something but can't get it. Happens all the time if I abandon you for more than two minutes. I wasn't kidding about the candy, you know."

"I'm offended."

"Keep being offended."

"How _could_ you?" Tōru clutches his chest. "Do you hear that? My heart, broken into a million pieces --"

Isa closes the box she's looking into, playfully kicks Tōru's shin, and points to one side. "Make yourself useful, Sweet Devil."

Obediently, Tōru picks up the box and transports it for her. When he turns back, she's adjusting her hair ties, and pretending she's not noticing how Tōru's gaze has dropped to the sliver of bare skin peeking through at her waist. Her body language has softened.

"Thank you for your assistance, Oikawa-san," she says, delicate and demure.

\-- and she leaves.

Tōru is left with the noise of the air conditioning fan.

_A baby that's lost its candy._

His eyes narrow at the doorway behind her.

Sometimes, when his self-preservation is louder than his impulses, Tōru remembers how he doesn't like getting involved with older women.

Tōru makes his way to his locker, one step at a time. The correct combination is set, and he swings it open. He reaches for his phone and watches the device coming together as it turns on. The message to Iwaizumi is still unread.

"Annoying," Tōru mutters.

Fortunately, his sister has stopped messaging him.

Just as he's about to return the device, a pop-up emerges. The screen flashes with the announcement of new mail. It's from Hinata Shōyō.

_Study session time!! I'm gonna go be friends with Kageyama now!! I'll show you that you can trust me, ok????_

An inkling in Tōru's skull shifts around. It draws loops and swirls like the tracing of a second hand over twenty-four hours. They met _yesterday_. Yesterday, after Tōru called Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi's mother --

Tōru pauses. It's the same timing. Yesterday, a text had also arrived from Hinata, immediately after Tōru sent his video to Iwaizumi.

Talk to Iwaizumi, hear from Hinata.

Tōru ignores the message and closes his locker with a scowl.

Tōru _hates_ coincidences.

" _Ohh_ , Oikawa-kun!"

This isn't a coincidence. It's the bubbly-rich voice of Manager Sasagawa, who runs the shop that Tōru is working at, and Tōru has today made him a lot of money. A smile emerges on Tōru's face before he even needs to turn around.

"Manager!" exclaims Tōru, with a bow.

Manager Sasagawa chuckles and taps a pattern with thin fingers atop a round melon gut. Tōru tries not to dwell on how his boss thinks a dress shirt with a tie, flowery shorts, and sandals with long socks is a proper outfit for the day-to-day management of his store.

"Hello, hello to you too," says the Manager. "Good work today. Want a trip to Tōkyō?"

"Tōkyō ...?" echoes Tōru.

"Yep, yep. I've got some tickets to some real C-Seat Tōkyō Dome baseball. Giants versus Eagles!"

Tōru searches his memory. "That's ... Tōkyō against Miyagi?"

"Indeed! Two months! I'm right about to sell these now, in fact. I'll give you one, for your hard work," and before Tōru can say anything, the Manager has already shuffled forward and slapped a piece of paper into his hand, turns around and walks out laughing. "No time for travel! My adorable daughter's gonna be a Miyagi star!"

Crazy Manager Sasagawa leaves as quickly as he'd appeared.

Slowly, Tōru looks at the ticket in his hand. He licks his lip. That date - it should be around when the Spring Tournament runs. Huh.

Permission to go to Tōkyō. Huh.

Coincidences.

Huh.

This coincidence, Tōru decides, is at least one that he can use. Good things come to those who serve.

Tōru reaches for his phone and opens his social media.

 

 

 

 

"-- that's a trick to English verbs," says Yachi-san. She didn't get a response when expecting one and jumps in her chair. "... Ah! A- am I boring you?"

Hinata shakes his head quickly and digs an elbow into Tobio's side like he expects him to disagree. Tobio tries to hide his scowl but he sees Yachi glancing at Hinata's elbow and then carefully at Tobio. Their eyes accidentally meet.

Yachi looks away very quickly so Tobio thinks he might have been glaring.

"Not boring at all, Yachi-san!" Hinata says.

Tobio figures the enthusiasm means Hinata didn't understand a word. He stays quiet though because he doesn't need an elbow to understand Hinata has a weird fascination with help and Yachi and he doesn't want Tobio to ... do something. Or he _wants_ Tobio to do something. It's always an elbow in Tobio's side before a hissed "Say _thanks_ , Kageyama," or a "Hey, you bow too!"

Whatever.

They're at Yachi's place again. The study session has gone for a while. A yawn nudges Tobio's nose and he's tempted to yawn there. He mutters that he needs to take a lea -- _to use_ the bathroom. Yachi nods politely.

Tobio yawns on the way. Better than another elbow or another argument about the technique of yawning.

"Uwaa, is that one of those chat app things, Yachi-san?" Hinata says from the table.

Stupid Hinata. Tobio didn't look like a fish when he yawned. It was all four-eyed Tsukishima's fault for bringing up a whale shark.

Yachi's bathroom is kinda nice. It's clean and smells like girls.

Tobio takes his piss, and stares at his hands after the toilet is flushing and he sticks it back in. It would be harder playing volleyball later.

His nails are growing longer.

He gets back and Hinata and Yachi are talking about unrelated stuff again.

"'Low self-esteem is bad'," Hinata says. He's next to Yachi and reading from an orange notebook. "Huh? Why? People aren't meant to brag."

"Don't read the 'esteem' as 'bragging', Hinata," Yachi says. "The, um, psychological definition of 'high self-esteem' is about being confident in yourself -- not the normal one of having an over-big ego, or anything! S- so, I mean, it's a bit weird that _jisonshin_ has these opposite meanings, b-- but, ah ..."

"No, it's kinda cool!" Hinata exclaims over her frantic hand-waving. He slaps a hand on the notebook page. "That sounds great. It's awesome if you wanna do something, isn't it?"

"Y ... Yeah! I'll, definitely work on getting over my shyness and my low self-esteem. Yeah! ... Oh, you're back, Kageyama-kun!"

Tobio nods after sitting back down. Yachi goes back to discussing the notes, flips some pages open again.

Tobio sees Hinata hasn't moved. Hinata's blankness feels distracted. He's staring at the wall where Yachi's head was.

"Shyness, self-esteem," Hinata mutters. "Self-esteem problems, self-pride ... arrogance, shy ..."

"Oi," Tobio says.

Hinata looks at Tobio. He stares, then his eyes widen, then he blinks.

"Oh," Hinata says.

Tobio's eye ticks. He wants to say a lot of rude things but he's very aware of Yachi-san next to him.

"Don't get distracted," Tobio decides.

Hinata is still giving him a weird look, like Tobio hasn't washed his hands. He isn't shouting or loudly denying.

"Yeah," Hinata says.

Tobio stares at him.

"Dumbass," Tobio states, then tries to concentrate on Yachi and boring shit again.

Hell if Tobio's gonna let him win at non-distraction.

The competition makes the time pass faster than Tobio remembers time being. Tobio is still concentrating when Hinata pushes him out of the building. Vaguely he remembers saying bye.

They go to the bus stop together.

"Hey, Kageyama," Hinata says suddenly, like he hasn't been weird earlier.

Tobio ignores him.

"Kageyama! Oi, _c'mon_."

Tobio scowls.

"Ka-ge-ya-ma- _kuuuuun_ ," Hinata's face gets in his face. "What's been bothering you all day?"

Stupid Hinata. Always only uses the honorific when he's trying to get Tobio to respond.

... Damn. Tobio can't not respond when Hinata makes his strange-ass duck face. One of Tobio's fists clench. It pisses him off.

"Hinata, you _ass_ ," Tobio growls. "What kind of shitty B-attack was that this afternoon, huh?"

Tobio isn't an idiot. Not completely. He knows how to get people to fuck off if they start punking him.

It works because Hinata screeches and backs up until there's a foot of distance between them. His hands go kung-fu. "H- hey, you wanna fight? Huh? _Huh?_ "

Kch. Tobio's thinking about the match now. The whole match had been a mess. Tobio hates thinking. It would be great to go home and toss some volleyballs.

"Whatever," Tobio says.

Hinata gives him a really weird stare and Tobio doesn't care, except Hinata _always_ ends up doing stupid things every time he has that kind of look.

Like serving a volleyball into the back of Tobio's head.

"... What?" Tobio forces out.

Hinata's jaw drops like Tobio just threw up a dead worm or something. Tobio twitches.

Hit it already. Get to the point.

The ball isn't going to wait forever.

"... Do you like her?" Hinata asks.

"Like?" Tobio's brows go down. Who, Yachi-san?

"I saw you two near the vending machines."

Vending machines?

Oh. Autograph girl.

"You didn't shout?" Tobio asks.

"Geez, I know how to be quiet!" Hinata says loudly. "But like, do you _like_ her? Sara-san is kinda cool, you know? She's in 3-1 and _really_ great at singing --"

"Don't care." Just like how Tobio doesn't care how Hinata is somehow buddies with everyone without even trying. "She doesn't understand volleyball."

"You don't know that. You didn't even talk to her."

She doesn't have the feeling. "Am I wrong?"

Hinata goes silent.

"... No," Hinata grumbles.

Then he wraps his hands around his bag strap and stops talking.

Tobio would have liked the quiet if it weren't so weird-ass _weird_. Since when did Hinata even ask him stuff about liking things or talk in ways that weren't trying to insult or make fun of him? It's like he's paying attention to _Tobio_ , not just being thankful or looking at Tobio like a volleyball that does tosses.

Who cares.

Japan has lots of prodigies because it has lots of people.

There's nothing that matters more for Tobio than volleyball.

Waiting at the bus stop with fifteen centimetres between Hinata and Tobio and another fifteen on the other side between Tobio and the sign, it's like fifteen centimetres is a two metres gap instead. It's weird and Tobio doesn't like this strange distance fucking with his spatial comprehensions,

but Tobio doesn't know what it is so he chomps his jaw. He can't deal with it anyway.

"Hey, Kageyama," Hinata says suddenly. Again. He's fidgeting. Lots. "W- wanna hang out?"

"Hah?" Tobio says.

"Th- th-- uh, later. No volleyball."

Tobio squints. Everything is weird and it has to be Hinata's fault. He lifts the back of a hand to Hinata's forehead.

"Are you sick?" Tobio states.

"N-- no!"

"You are, stupid."

"I'm not!"

"Yeah? Well, make some sense, why not?"

Hinata wriggles under Tobio's glare, then blurts, "Let's be friends!"

Tobio stares. A tickle goes through him. He has a sudden urge to scratch his gut.

"No way," he says, flatter than soba. "Stupid Hinata. I'm friends with volleyball."

"Y- yeah?" Hinata says. "Well, i-if _I'm_ friends with volleyball, wouldn't that make _us_ friends, t ... too?"

...

 _Oh_ , Tobio thinks.

Hinata reads Tobio's expression and lets loose a victorious whoop. "I win, Kageyama! Can't argue now, can you?"

Their eyes meet. Hinata stiffens, then moves out defensively like Tobio's gonna serve at his head. Tobio wants to, because Hinata keeps being _weird_ , yet Tobio can't reach for the bag of volleyballs over his shoulder. Mental block.

Mental block super fast spike-speed high.

"Friends," Tobio says slowly.

Hinata realises there's no immediate risk to his life and steps forward.

"Yeah," Hinata says. He's grinning. He puts out his hands. "Friends now."

Tobio stares at the low five request and tosses his options.

The low fives get returned with an echoing _slap_.

It's so loud that some nearby birds screech and fly away.

"Owowowowowow that _HURT_ , _Baka_ geyama! Ow, ow, ow --"

"Hey, what?! Don't ask for it then! Don't be such a sissy, you know!"

Hinata howls something else, but Tobio can't hear him. Tobio's heartbeat is loud and pulsing. He sees the horizon flickering up and down in synchrony.

Friends.

...

 

 

 

 

On the way home, after Tobio gets off the bus, his bag of volleyballs end up in his hands. He didn't put it on his back again. It's too hot. His heart decided on being warm like the sun is warm. There are thick clouds in the sky. Maybe it'll start raining.

Doesn't matter. By then Tobio will be home and showered and eating his mother's curry.

"It's nice," he decides, and shifts his grip on the bag.

Friends.

The volleyballs roll against each other and Tobio's chest like an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 10: (Kageyama, Oikawa) Passions and regrets.「愛」


	10. Right I (愛)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right I (love ['ai'])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ※ Thank you to lee-senpai again ☼

Everything is yellow.

Karasuno's uniform is yellow. Tobio goes for his early-morning jog and the telephone poles and the houses and the streets he runs through are all yellow. The garbage bins outside the convenience store and the convenience store is painted yellow. His lunchbox and the name written on his lunchbox are yellow, and the sky is as yellow as the bright yellow sun.

His run goes to a familiar substitution box. He walks in and he's at the Inter-High.

Where Tobio received his first yellow card.

Tobio can't tolerate the colour yellow.

Hinata is blazing next to Tobio because both of them have been sidelined after both of them said they'd stay on the court. It's not like Hinata followed him or anything. Hinata is _fucking pissed_ because being taken off means he's not good enough alone.

Hinata's eyes are yellow.

_Look at the_ ** _opponent_** _, Kageyama_ , the yellow glare says. _We haven't won yet. You're supposed to be_ ** _better_** _than this._

Hinata opens his mouth,

"Why are you acting like a King again?"

the sun melts into rain.

Tobio feels his blood like water running in drains and Tobio can't see any colour except yellow.

"Shut up," Tobio tells him. He points. Go away.

Hinata's yellow eyes look at him. _Denial is not an answer_ , they say. He walks off. He stops walking and comes back and tilts his head instead.

"Hey, Kageyama," yellow Hinata says. "Wanna hang out?"

And Tobio's heart clenches so suddenly,

he wakes from bad dreams.

His ceiling is not yellow. There are not yellow curtains covering his window. Outside it, water droplets are pecking loudly at his room.

It's raining again.

_"Let's be friends!"_

It's like Hinata has nothing better to do than surprise people.

_"What have you been doing for the past three years?"_ Tobio hissed a long time ago, unable to believe. Unable to believe. He thought he'd found his perfect spiker back then. He didn't think he'd find a rival weaker than him in every way. Height. Strength. Technique. Talent. Hinata Shōyō is a flaming bundle of klutziness,

and many of the coolest rallies in volleyball exist because of speedy reflexes and the ability to endure.

_"You will become Kitagawa-daiichi's next setter."_

_"You're not the one in control of the attack,"_ Oikawa-san told him. _"Chibi-chan has the initiative. If you can't understand that, you're --"_

Burning yellow eyes glare. _"You're acting like a king again."_

Tobio scrunches his blanket with setting fingers. His palms tingle. They've given more high fives and low fives in the past year than his entire life.

His spine stings like he's done hours of seiza.

Tobio throws the blanket off. He grabs his black jacket off its hanger. _Kageyama Tobio_ , the collar says. Tobio shoves it on without bothering to change out of his sleep shirt. Then Tobio takes it off when he remembers it's August, not July, and summer holidays means he has no school.

_"Kageyama-san. Have you been paying attention to the clouds and the wind and the sun?"_

It's raining again. Summer rain of August. Not July.

There's no time.

Tobio looks at the calendar on his wall.

Two months to Spring Qualifiers.

 

 

 

 

Karasuno's volleyball club finally starts looking like a volleyball club instead of a study club now that everyone has a total of five first-years to mentor. It won't ever look like Kitagawa-daiichi's or Aobajōsai's or Nekoma's or Shiratorizawa's but Tobio doesn't mind. He gets to play.

Some of the new first-years have been playing since grade school. They're solid. Tobio respects their commitment. Yet despite being sucky, it's the Fujihara twins that still stand out to Tobio. Not that they're tall, but they aren't short either. Mostly that they're prodigy-following.

"Good morning, Kageyama-san," Sei says in the mornings. Always sweaty and gross. He runs to school every day to build endurance. Tobio has spotted Sei's brother lurking around the third-years' hangouts a lot more too.

("How do you tell the difference between them?" is a popular question, because apparently it's impossible to know when there's no indicators of confidence or nerves.

Tobio's reply doesn't change, "They look different."

The third-years have another explanation,

"NO TWO MEN IN THIS WORLD ARE THE SAME," super manly Nishinoya says, doing a cool senpai thing where his face grows lots of lines, "IT'S THE WAY THEY BREATHE LIKE MEN."

Tanaka's face also has lots of lines. They fist-bump. "WELL SAID, NOYA-SAN!")

It's real educational for Tobio when Nishinoya teaches.

"Gotta wait for the _schwoo_ ," Nishinoya says. Knees bent, back held deliberately. "If it goes _kwee_ , that means it's one of _those!_ Yeah! So then you gotta do _this!_ "

The volleyball bounces off Nishinoya's arms, killed, a beautiful and perfect receive every time. Amazing to watch. Tobio nods a lot. So obvious, yet he never realised the _kwee_ was important like that.

So cool.

"S- schwoo, l ... like, this?" Fujihara says.

Fujihara puts his arms out. He does a _swish_.

"Ah, close!" Nishinoya says. "Nah. You gotta be more _fwoo_."

Hinata, watching also, tries to copy too.

"Schwoo?" Hinata asks.

Tobio rolls his eyes. " _Fwiiikkk_."

"What are they talking about?" Another first-year asks.

"A-- ah ..." their friend says.

"No one has a clue," Yamaguchi says sympathetically.

"Almost like caveman concerns," Tsukishima adds ass-ishly.

(Tobio'd practice the _schwoo_ when he got home.)

Though, the Fujiharas don't understand the language that Tobio and Nishinoya talk either. Instead, after most of the club has left in the evening,

"Kageyama-san," Sei says. "Could you serve to Nishinoya-san before he leaves?"

Tobio's practicing his serves. Trying to add more power and curve while keeping accuracy like disappearing-in-freeze-frames Oikawa-san.

Sei is holding a phone.

"Huh?" Tobio says.

Tobio does, and finds out why Sei has his phone with him.

" _Videos!_ " Hinata shouts. " _Woah_ , how do you, what's it, where's the ..."

It's nothing special. In Tobio's opinion. Just a rectangle, boring smartphone screen, showing pictures one at a time fast enough to look like it's moving. It's playing back frames of the gymnasium's insides at one quarter speed.

Sei shows the video to his brother, points out something about Nishinoya's depth and angle, something else about contact points in relation to shoulders-hips. Fujihara nods understandingly and the two brothers get into a long discussion about tilting.

(It reminds Tobio of a weird question from Sei,

"How do you sense the court, Kageyama-san?"

"... A map," Tobio responded. "Flat map. We're in it, but not countries, smaller. Some kinda dinner plate that's square with stair-chopsticks."

Sei thought for ages. "Like a plane?"

"What?" What's a plane.

Sei shook his head. "Nevermind.")

Instead of copying Hinata, who is trying to listen, Tobio goes back to his serves.

The volleyball in Tobio's grip bounces twice against the floor.

Toss. Keep them consistent. Shift the approaching run, the moment and type of impact. Find the best one. Visualise the court floor branching off his feet like giant cast shadows, remember the opposing sidelines and find the corners, draw the end line between them. Wind the shoulder up and back one extra segment.

Tobio lands on two feet and the ball lands in the court.

It hadn't been full strength. Tobio can do better.

"Sei," Fujihara says, when Tobio is reaching for another volleyball, "s-- send the video to me, right?"

"Okay," Sei says.

As Tobio tosses, Hinata makes a curious noise.

Tobio's concentration narrows. The shoulder goes back two segments and a coil like twisting a rubber band propeller. Tobio launches. The ball flies too far.

Contact point mismatch.

Kch.

"-- huh, I didn't know chat apps could do that, Fuji-B," Hinata says to Sei.

_Fuji-B._ Some dumb nickname.

Tobio knows that the next serve is his last for the day when his ankle fucks up his jump and he fires an almost-horizontal home run.

There's a snort from Hinata.

"Shut up, dumbass," Tobio says. "Get better at receiving already!"

"I will," Hinata replies. "Let's both make it by Spring, okay?"

Hinata helps him pick up the stray volleyballs as the twins get the mops ready. It's weird that Hinata doesn't shout back. All four of them head for the club room.

Tobio gives Hinata the key.

"See you tomorrow, Kageyama-san," Sei says in the moment as Tobio is leaving. "The sun will be out. It's going to be warm."

Tobio nods. Sei always gives a forecast based on the clouds and the wind and the sun.

Tobio sees the calendar on the wall.

One month to Spring Qualifiers.

 

 

 

 

It's early one humid evening when Tōru's phone buzzes.

Tōru's glances at the notification.

> From: Hinata-chibi  
>  Subject: Question!!
> 
> `Grand king, do you have Lane chat?`

 

Tōru does.

Tōru also notes that Hinata has neglected to explain why he wants the information.

He turns back to his computer and goes back to booking seats for his trip to Tōkyō. _Departure time._ The Friday night buses are a little packed, if the limited time selections are an indicator. 22:30 sounds fine.

The continue page starts loading and Tōru glances at his phone again. He remembers a chance meeting on a bridge, the rush of control that comes with understanding, and how the skin of a volleyball gave way to pressure from Tōru's fingertips.

Hinata Shōyō wants a toss.

Tōru's right hand tightens over his computer mouse. He finishes his booking. A new email arrives in his inbox to confirm the order.

He reaches for his phone and sends Hinata a reply.

It's not until the next day, when he's at a convenience store and having his ticket information printed, that he receives a contact request from _bird8187_.

Tōru opens their profile. The display image is familiar, but he can't quite place the man with feathery hair and a poignant, mysterious gaze until he passes the magazine racks. It's a popular new TV star that's worked in one of his sister's dramas. She'd brought home an entire carton of posters which have annoyed Tōru more than once because they're currently taking valuable space in their downstairs tatami room.

His phone buzzes and the notification says, _I added you._

"You ..." Tōru echoes beneath his breath.

Hinata Shōyō.

A second heartbeat stirs in Tōru's chest, an emotion churning like water churns against a dam. Fine layers of silt and gunk are picked up, deposited, and ignored - the second heart overlooks the dirty traces of _what-ifs_ and uncertainties, to reinforce a conclusion that Tōru's first heart says is too hasty, too lacking proof.

Tōru licks his lip. Smartphones are gaining quick popularity compared to pricey MMS messaging. The likelihood that Hinata could have upgraded is never zero. Understanding thought processes is not equivalent to knowing all of a person's hobbies or what else they may have enjoyed.

But.

The rock wall buffering the wave of possibilities have already determined from where they originated.

A popular actor as a profile picture.

_It is not Hinata's phone._

Calmly, Tōru throws a couple of sports magazines into his basket, ignores the stand of adult magazines to grab some condoms, and accepts the invitation.

Five minutes later he's scowling behind a smile because now he's found out why Hinata wanted his messaging ID. The phone is put into a pocket. Tōru's fingers brush past the printout as they leave.

If Iwaizumi were there, he could have told Tōru.

If he had Iwaizumi with him, _Iwaizumi would have known._

Tōru is not so blinded by irritation that he deletes this stranger's contact details. They'll come in useful one day. He ignores Hinata and chooses not to respond.

Four weeks to visiting Tōkyō.

 

 

 

 

"Beh," Tobio mutters, as he searches the club room. "Not here." In a box? "Not either ..."

"Whatcha doing, Kageyama?" Hinata's voice says.

"Can't find it," Tobio says.

"Find what?"

"Kneepads."

"Oh," Yamaguchi says. "I remember seeing you with them. Could you have left them in Tōkyō?"

Tobio remembers holding them too. He also remembers being tired and annoyed because there's not enough time to get used to playing with the new first-years and with the others' new combination attack and not enough time to learn Oikawa-san's freeze-frame serve even though one of Ubugawa's nice managers gave some pointers about what her players do. Tobio ... stumbled to pack his things ... after detouring to refill his drink ...

It was dark. His kneepads are dark. Tobio stiffens.

He ... probably ... lost them.

"We can go buy some new ones," Hinata says cheerfully.

"We?" Tobio says.

"Of course!" Hinata nods. "I know somewhere cheap. We'll go like friends!"

Hinata's excited face is not worth arguing with because it's impossible to make Hinata stop once he decides on friend things.

"Fine," Tobio says. "Tomorrow?"

"'Kaay," Hinata agrees.

Tobio ends up borrowing a set for that day's training session. He doesn't think about the friendship thing too much, now. The weirdness of Hinata's niceness is nothing close to the frustration of _almost_ getting the serve learnt. Tobio helping the others has taken priority.

"Hey," Tsukishima says, near the end of training. He's not smirking. He doesn't have an eye-twitch, either, so Tobio knows he's in court mode. Classmate Tsukishima replaced by Teammate Tsukishima. A strange kind of relationship, but, teammates don't have to be friends. They just need to know the other is around.

Yamaguchi is with Tsukishima. Tobio doesn't really care what they whisper about, but figures it has to do with how Yamaguchi wants to learn quicks. Yamaguchi is around Tobio a lot more, too.

Tobio doesn't plan on saying he watches Yamaguchi practicing floats and kinda plans on learning them after.

After the pause, simultaneously,

"Let's start."

"What are you waiting for?"

"If you'll please. Whenever ready."

Tobio doesn't know which of the three of them says it first. It doesn't matter.

Everyone's practicing for the Nationals.

Everyone's around to get stronger.

"See you later, Kageyama-san," Sei says in the moment as Tobio is leaving. "The seas have been strange lately, so watch out for winds. A storm could reach Karasuno."

Tobio nods. Sei always gives a forecast.

"Kageyama! See ya at the station tomorrow!" Hinata shouts. "Bye, Fuji-A!"

_Fuji-A._ Some dumb nickname.

Tobio discovers that Hinata is really pretty dumb when he ends up taking Tobio to the same store that Tobio always goes to, anyway.

"Dumbass," Tobio says, and goes inside.

"Welcome!" The shop people all say when they see him, like loud mosquitoes, and Tobio ignores them.

"Wel --" a shop person starts saying, then chokes, and Tobio turns around,

to come face-to-face with Oikawa Tōru.

Oikawa-san has one of those hard to forget faces. Not really like movie stars, 'cause Tobio doesn't care about movies anyway and high grade volleyball is a ton more interesting. More like, Oikawa Tōru is a setter that's his own decoy. Really elegant hands plus a blinding charismatic aura. How he can understand his players so quickly ...

Tobio's senses notice Hinata sliding around him. It's not until Oikawa turns and looks at Hinata that Tobio realises, below the face, Oikawa is wearing the shop uniform.

"Yo!" Hinata says loudly.

Tobio watches Oikawa-san's pupils shift, and how one of his hands go to his chin, kinda like Hinata's enthusiasm has punched him. Oikawa coughs and clears his throat. Really elegant.

"Chibi-chan," Oikawa greets. "And ... Tobio-chan. This is a surprise! What are you here to buy?"

An elbow nudges Tobio. Tobio is still staring. Is Oikawa slouching? In the last year, Oikawa-san has got shorter.

"Kageyama needs new kneepads." Hinata. "Can you give him a discount?"

Tobio starts. " _Huh?!"_

What an idiot. Dumbass, dumbass, _dumbass_. Saying that kind of request so bluntly out loud. Tobio's face is hot and his chest is red. Tobio remembers why he hates thinking 'cause his _chest_ is hot and his _face_ is red. Oikawa-san's eyebrows are tilted up. He can still look elegant when pitying.

Oikawa-san glances elegantly at Tobio with pitying eyes and Tobio doesn't want to be friends with Hinata any more.

"Oi-- Oikawa-san," Tobio forces out stiffly, drops into a bow. "I, apologise for the --"

"Ha ha ha ~" Tobio straightens and sees Oikawa-san waving a hand. Oikawa is smiling. "Tobio-chan, no need to make a scene! Alright? I'll help you two with the kneepads. What a close friendship you two have."

"Yeah!" Hinata agrees. "See, I told you!"

"Chibi-chan, would you mind asking that nē-san to come over for a second?" Oikawa points to another shop person, a lady with dark hair. Judging by how tall the shelf next to Tobio is and the shelf next to the lady, she's around 180cm.

"Sure," Hinata says.

Hinata leaves Tobio and Oikawa-san alone. Tobio realises there's a strange unsettlement in his throat. Hinata chirps at the shop lady. Hinata's casualness with Oikawa-san is just Hinata being friendly with people.

Tobio doesn't doubt that, when Oikawa-san smiles at him, he got rid of Hinata because he wanted to talk to Tobio.

"It's been a while, Tobio-chan," Oikawa says.

"... Yeah. Here, too." Tobio bows a little.

"Now, now, don't have to be so formal." Oikawa is back to hand-waving again. "How is it with Chibi-chan? Still doing that superhuman quick attack?"

Not the kind Oikawa-san remembers. There's one attack Hinata's trying to get used to involving Tobio's pin tosses, because he has trouble hitting the ball into the court from where the antennae are. Someone came up with a name for it, too,

"Slide-Pin Back Quick," Tobio says.

"Back?" Oikawa is watching Tobio now. Tobio has said something he finds interesting. "I wonder, if that is the case ... So, Chibi-chan has been moved to wing spiker."

Tobio's lungs clench around his heart. Sharp stabbing from inside. "How did you ..."

Oikawa-san smiles scarily. "Simple logic, you know?"

A movement to Tobio's side, a blur of orange. Tobio twitches in surprise. Hinata's returned.

"Oikawa-san," the shop lady says. "Are you having trouble?"

"No trouble, Isa-san!" Oikawa says. "Please help Tobio-chan for me. He needs kneepads. And cover me for ten minutes," he adds a lot more softly.

" _Again?_ " The shop lady says.

Tobio blinks. Her annoyed shoulder shifting looks like Iwaizumi-san's.

"Please ~?" Oikawa-san whispers back. "I'll let you ring up all the other sales I make today."

Just like that, the shop lady smiles really nicely and looks at Tobio.

"You are after new kneepads, customer?" she prompts.

_Oh_ , Tobio thinks. She's not like Iwaizumi-san at all.

"Tobio-chan, let Isa-san take care of you, okay?" Tobio looks at Oikawa and suddenly realises that Oikawa has a hand around Hinata's arm. Hinata isn't struggling. Tobio opens his mouth reflexively but Oikawa makes a peace sign and moves his head like he's taking a selfie. "I'm gonna steal Chibi-chan for a bit, to ask him what you just told me."

One of Hinata's hands go up in a peace sign too. He's really quiet. Hinata stares at his hand and wiggles his fingers scissor-cutting curiously.

"Tobio-chan?" Oikawa-san says, trying to grab Tobio's attention. "I'm glad you made a friend."

"I'll meetcha outside after," Hinata tells Tobio,

then they leave and Tobio is alone.

The shop lady tilts her head after Tobio's purchased the kneepads, and offers to take it to the door.

"So I'm guessing you and Oikawa have some kind of history?" she asks out of nowhere.

Tobio stiffens. It's true. It's also super super creepy hearing something like that from a stranger shop lady. That's landing out of bounds if Tobio's ever seen one.

"It's alright, if you do. You don't need to pretend otherwise in front of me," she adds, handing the bag over. "Come back the next weekend if you want to avoid him. He'll be out of here for a while after Friday."

"Friday ..." Tobio mutters. The Spring Qualifiers are gonna be on.

The shop lady nods.

"Yup. One week until he goes to Tōkyō."

 

 

 

 

Tōru takes the little orange bird called Hinata out of the store and then ducks into a car park a little down the road. There are vending machines there, and a small gap behind them, a tiny corner. It's not the most private location, but it’s private enough. It’s like how the Japanese treat people who read ero-manga on the train - there's so many people in the country that its natives are very good at preserving the invisible walls around their personal space. Those passing by the car park would see them and then instantly proceed to forget they're there.

Tōru stops. Hinata looks around. His brows start to drop.

"Grand king," says Hinata, lips pressed together, "there's no space to play here. You're not planning to give me a toss."

"That's right," Tōru informs.

"Then --"

"Why did you send me that video of your libero?" Tōru interrupts.

"Your explanations are the best," says Hinata.

"I don't care about your team's training, Chibi-chan."

"Don't you like volleyball?"

Liking or disliking is not a topic that Tōru has time to discuss. Tōru takes control.

"Do you know why I stopped playing volleyball, Chibi-chan?" he asks.

"Huh?" says Hinata.

"There's something I have to accomplish."

At the words, Hinata's head dips slightly, puts his eyes into shadow. Tōru watches him think over the suggestions, and how the little bird's head tilts as it wakes up to realise the sky is all around him. Hinata licks his teeth.

"It's something not volleyball," Hinata concludes.

"It's something not volleyball," Tōru confirms.

Hinata frowns. "I don't like guessing games, Grand king."

" _I_ don't like being told what to do, Chibi-chan." Tōru runs a hand across the hair behind his head. "So, I don't really want to be Karasuno's coach, you know?"

"We have a coach," Hinata points out.

"Then you don't need to send me videos of your team's training."

"Your explanations are the best."

Tōru clicks his tongue. His tongue lingers at the roof of his mouth, where it joins against his lips. "It has to be me."

"It has to be you," Hinata agrees. He's earnest again, rocking up on his heels. "You said you'd give me a toss if I showed you that I could help you, yeah? When are you gonna give it to me?"

"Does the fact that I've stopped playing volleyball not matter to you _at all?_ "

"I don't think you've stopped." Hinata stretches up, and up, to reach his full height of not-so-impressive, and this time, his tongue shoots out to lick his lips before whooshing back and hiding again. "You're the Grand King, right? We played against you. There's no way someone like you can stop playing."

It's because Tōru is used to Hinata's thought processes that the fallacies don't give him a headache or drive him insane. Hinata also either has some kind of oral fixation or is the kind of child that can't use lip balm because he won't stop eating anything that gets near his mouth, because he licks his lips again.

"Hey, Grand King, are you listening?" says Hinata. "I'm right, aren't I? Let's play volleyball together, Grand King."

Tōru can feel annoyance beginning to emerge in his skull.

"Chibi-chan," he says. "I have a name, you know."

Hinata stills.

"Chibi-chan isn't my name either, Tōru-san."

The average human reaction time is 0.2 seconds.

In 0.2 seconds, Tōru has registered that Hinata has rocketed into his vision and spiked some sort of quick. There is only one appropriate response in volleyball, and that is to prevent the point.

It's not a matter of thought. It's when instincts and adrenaline are a more reliable resource than waiting for thousands of neurons to process thousands of variables, for the information to trickle from the skull down the spine to the outer limits of the limbs at one hundred metres per second, waiting for the muscles to _move_ and the body to take action. It's a split-second decision that's less judgement and more impulse.

It's a split second when Tōru reaches from where he is, to where he _should_ be, and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> then the gap called _common sense_ is breached --
> 
> Their faces press together first. It's a fight of chins and noses like beaks and birds exchanging guts called food. Broad collarbones dwarfing dumbass Hinata, _oh my god he's cute_ , shimmering starlight clustering together like supernovae, burning blood rush and adrenaline and intensity. Hinata's eyes close as he gets used to the motions, how Tōru's mouth is over his, and Tōru pushes forwards, pins him down.
> 
> Hinata wriggles. His hands shift where they're crushed between Tōru's pressure and the wall behind him. His shoulders arch into Tōru's chest like tiny staccato bumps above the rib cage.
> 
> It takes a moment before Hinata rises to his toes and presses back.
> 
> \-- because Oikawa Tōru has kissed him.
> 
>  
> 
> ### 
> 
> ✘  
> ∟ chp 11: (????) It's like talking to a void. 「哀」


	11. Left eye (哀)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left eye (pathos ['ai'])

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December! I hope you are all doing well ♥  
> Please send formatting complaints to me ~
> 
> ※ thanks again to lee-senpai for being an all-in-one dazzling force of nature♫

 

 

 

#### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> [Video: Oikawa Tōru, one eye closed, winking hearts and kissing fingers held in a victory 'V'.]
> 
> [Audio: "Let you keep your apps, Iwa-chan! You owe me big time!! Lots of drinks. I want unlimited access to your mirror ~"]
> 
> ♥

one month ago

##### Me

> thanks

11:53 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> About time you replied.
> 
> Oikawa-san is the☆best, ne?

12:21

##### Me

> Yeah yeah

12:24 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace]
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace]

12:27

##### Me

> Shittykawa

12:27 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon volleyball player making a jump service ace] 

12:28

##### Me

> STOP 

12:28 _(read)_

 

##### Me

> I didn't think you'd actually drop it 

13:20 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Heh. You sound surprised. 
> 
> Is that surprise? 

14:01

##### Me

> No. 

14:05 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> [Sticker: A cartoon character floor-banging in an upset manner] 
> 
> Iwa-chan!! You're not fun at all!!!! 

14:05

##### Me

> Don't you have fan girls to piss off? or Hinata Shōyō. 

14:06 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Iwa-chan, Hinata's not like that. He's just a thorn in the ass. 

14:07

##### Me

> you aren't dating him? 

14:10 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> ha ha. No way 
> 
> I'm dead sexy, not a gay ~ 
> 
> Unless, Iwa-chan, could it be? You're one of them?? 
> 
> Wow, I'm flattered you think I'm so attractive❤

14:18

##### Me

> Shittykawa. 

14:20 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Yes? 

14:20

##### Me

> We were on the same volleyball team. 

14:22 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> ? 

14:25

##### Me

> I've known for years that you don't have a problem sleeping with men. 

14:28 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Someone's a nosy friend. 

14:33

##### Me

> Do you think I wanted to find out? 
> 
> You sent me that message, you can't pretend you aren't chasing him. 

14:34 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> What message? 

14:35

##### Me

> 'What is the best option' or some crap. 

14:35

"Hajime!" his mother calls.

Hajime hastily stuffs his phone under a stack of notes, bumping his elbow into the edge of his desk as his mother appears in the doorway. His arm stings, slightly, and he bats the tingling away like a spider's web.

"What is it, Okā-san?" he asks.

"Could you bring the futons inside?"

"Okay."

Hajime steps out of his chair.

By the side of the apartment, as Hajime pulls oceans of warm fabric through the windows, Tōkyō is at once a lot taller and a lot smaller than his old neighbourhood, where his family's four-room house spun in a galaxy full of other four-room houses, one of those houses being Oikawa Tōru's. Hajime and Oikawa would still be there and together if Hajime had flown into a university that his parents were satisfied with. But there are standards, the Iwaizumi matriarch would broadcast, when they all stop for dinner. Oikawa Tōru is lucky that he's one of the winners, a star, the elite sportspeople who can receive invitations to universities and also choose a flight path where he can deny the invitations on will, because Oikawa Saki has a strong business sense in television, pioneering less than a handful of formats, all of them broadly successful with rights sold for eight digit yen to broadcasters all around the world. Oikawa and Hajime's mothers are close friends, so gossip spreads like the cosmic rays of Hajime's concern.

It's difficult to see Oikawa, ruler of the court, who plays some of the most selfishly selfless volleyball that Hajime knows, content spending pocket money from his sister.

But, Hajime failed to land, and Oikawa declined his university ticket to orbit alongside him.

But, Hajime is staring at the eerily far streets of Tōkyō from an unfamiliar apartment, because he's been pulled out of orbit by a stronger gravity out of his control.

Hajime should have realised his best friend would pull something spontaneously _stupid_. 

Hajime did not tell his best friend about his parents' plans, so his best friend's future has been jettisoned without care.

He passes a small bowl of seeds set out to attract birds, and hauls two futons in a strong-armed embrace, though with the gentility reserved for small animals that have thin skin over tiny bones, fragile enough that not controlling his strength could lead to hurt and injury. The futons smell like yellow sunbeams from a rainbow of light droplets scattering Hajime's wishes into the realm of impossibilities, where dreams from another universe live on the other side of a glass wall.

He folds the futons in deft strokes, stores them away, and then reaches beneath the diamond of shadow hiding his phone.

 

##### Me

> 'What is the best option' or some crap.

14:35 _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Dunno what you're talking about. I never sent you a message like that.

14:36

Hajime's in the middle of typing _you did_ when another message appears on screen.

 

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Did you go back and check it yourself, Iwa-chan?

14:44

With grey foggy clouds and irritated thunderstorms, Hajime doesn't need to look to know that the messages have been deleted or edited, any trace of the previous context shrouded with smoke or bounced by mirrors.

Hajime's concerns try to reach across space, transmitting signals to distant lifeforms which know how to hear. It's very hard to read Oikawa Tōru from the other side of three hundred kilometres; six hours by bus, less than two hours via peregrine shinkansen, or a millisecond at the speed of light. Hajime worries for Oikawa's drive crashing him into walls again, and again, a viral video on repeat, not when there's something so simple his selfish best friend is constantly overlooking.

There are six people on a volleyball court.

Hajime wants to grab his asshole best friend and punch him, saying, _denial doesn't mean things never happened! Stop deleting shit! Shittykawa, you're not alone!_

Over a phone, Oikawa sounds different, the fuzzy connection distorting the lowest pitches of a voice Hajime remembers as being still, unassailable, mercury-sheer:

_"I know there are six people on a volleyball court, Iwa-chan."_

"Hajime," his mother calls, to interrupt his thoughts.

She's distant. Hajime puts his phone down to meet her at the entryway by the front door.

"I'm going out," she tells him. "Is there anything you need?"

She's sincere, her offer and its inflections like fresh bread and new, monsoonal rainfall. It's yellow and pale orange, sweet and juicy pineapple flesh, because Iwaizumi Aika is a kind woman with kind intentions beneath a thorny skin.

Hajime shakes his head. "No, Okā-san. Have a safe trip."

His mother smiles, so proudly that Hajime has flashbacks of being in grade school on parent visitation day, being praised in front of all the other students and their families, Oikawa smugly humming to himself because he'd helped Hajime gain that praise; he thinks of how Oikawa must have tricked her to let him keep his phone, and guilt starts stabbing Hajime all across his skin.

The message which Hajime ends up sending is a lot shorter, a lot more concise than his original intention.

 

##### Me

> Don't do anything you'll regret.

15:00

Oikawa doesn't respond, whether Hajime peeks at the forbidden in four minutes or four hours or four days.

Hajime does his best to cast away how a river in his chest ends in a waterfall sluicing out into a void darker than black, a galactic depression in the fabric of the universe, a pit which grows ever larger and ever broader, swallowing light and colour to the end of time.

The silence, more than anything else, is as dark as the void, and filled with millions of infectious thoughts ~~███████████████████~~

Hajime kn ~~█████████████████████████████████████~~?

 

 

 

 

> **OIKAWA☆TOHRU** **  
> ** (@ ~~██████~~ )
> 
>   
>  Guess who has Tokyo Dome tickets to Giants VS Eagles!!
> 
>  
> 
> 25 Aug 2012 (favourited)

 

 

 

 

 

 ~~██████~~ red:

##### Oikawa Saki [ ~~██~~ _TV@ ~~█████~~ ]

> Tōru, I'll be going between Tōkyō and Sapporo until November. Let me know if you want me to bring anything back, alright?

one week ago

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale of one to ten, kissing Hinata Shōyō is _absolutely disgusting_.
> 
> "It's not an _eating competition_ ," Tōru mutters once they've separated. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and stares down at the fluffball that _bites_. Not only bites! He drools _everywhere_ , what the fuck. What the fuck. And it took so long for Hinata to pull away -- is he from a subspecies known as dumbass, and not entirely human?
> 
> Does he _not breathe?_
> 
> Dumbass.
> 
> Hinata grows flaming red when he realises that Tōru has just kissed him and he's kissed Tōru back and Tōru has him trapped against a wall in an honest-to-god kabedon.
> 
> Holy shit, _holy shit_ , right?
> 
> _Right?_
> 
> "Oh," Hinata says.
> 
> "Oh," Tōru echoes.
> 
> "Oh," Hinata says, again, and starts poking at his lips like he wants to eat his hands too. "That was ... my first kiss?"
> 
> Tōru's head tilts. The corners of his mouth pull downwards. _Obviously_. What a dull response. He must still be in shock.
> 
> How stupid.
> 
> "Are you asking me a question?" Tōru says.
> 
> "No! Yes!" Pause. "Yes. I mean, no!"
> 
> If Hinata stiffens any more he might spontaneously start planking. That would be entertaining, if annoying. Hinata's fingers drop in front of his chest. Slowly, he meets Tōru's eyes.
> 
> "Why did you -- why did you do that?"
> 
> Tōru shrugs and hums from deep within his throat. "What a very good question."
> 
> Not every question needs an answer.
> 
> ... Although.
> 
> Hinata Shōyō _is_ a little cute like this, large eyes and mussed-up bird's nest hair, an emotion hovering over him like confusion but of the innocent sort. He looks like he's just been hatched and tumbled out from between two eggshell halves.
> 
> Tōru doesn't go for the cute ones, usually, but an idea occurs and he pauses. Then, he leans a little so he can look at Hinata eye-to-eye.
> 
> From this angle, there's a lot less hair and a lot more fire. Tōru can actually see the line to Hinata's jaw now, an unexpected sharpness amidst incredibly round features. Hinata's wide eyes have widened even further now that he can see Tōru differently, too, and Tōru catalogues all the nervous signs. The movement of his throat when he swallows. His tongue, darting out and then back in again.
> 
> Hinata's neck curves down to sweeping collarbones, and the definition between muscle and bone --
> 
> Ah. Wow. That's hot.
> 
> No wonder.
> 
> "Hey," Tōru says. "Let's date, Shō-chan."
> 
> Hinata squawks. "S- Shō?!"
> 
> He's blinking a lot now. It's so adorable it's utterly _sickening._
> 
> "Didn't you say your name wasn't Chibi-chan?" Tōru asks.
> 
> "Y ... yes, ehmm ..."
> 
> "Shō-chan it is," Tōru decides. "No takebacks!"
> 
> Hinata stares at his feet. His fingers are twitching again. He licks his lips.
> 
> "Okay, Tōru-san," Hinata agrees.
> 
> Hina-- no. Name change. Shōyō's eyes follow the movements of Tōru's arms as Tōru returns them to his sides, transfixed. They don't blink. Even Tōru wants to blink, because there's a dry wind he just noticed, and his eyeballs are kinda draining.
> 
> Shōyō still hasn't blinked.
> 
> "But ... dating ..." is a small murmur. Shōyō's chest moves as he gathers his voice. He tilts his head. It's pretty cute. "Tōru-san, you still owe me a toss."
> 
> "Not really," says Tōru. "I'll play volleyball with you if you can show me something, that's what I agreed to. Remember?"
> 
> "Yeah. But Kageyama --"
> 
> "I think it's great that you're friends with Tobio-chan! Though, it never mattered to me that much. You want me and you want my explanations, and they have n-o-t-h-i-n-g to do with Tobio-chan. So date me."
> 
> "What about that toss --"
> 
> "I'll give you so many tosses that you'll be begging me to stop."
> 
> There's a pause. Shōyō slowly bends forwards to put a hand to his chin, starts to look thoughtful like a detective from a mystery show.
> 
> "Dating involves more kisses," he says, hesitantly.
> 
> "Yup," says Tōru.
> 
> "But," Shōyō tries, again, "I don't think you liked that one."
> 
> "Then you can learn how to get better." _That_ starts an idea - a small speck of light that very quickly expands and grows and _explodes --_ "Hey, learn how to kiss, Shō-chan!" 
> 
> Hinata blinks. "Wh-- what?"
> 
> Tōru nods to himself. "If you do that, I'll teach you how to receive." What a good idea.
> 
> "Uwah?"
> 
> Long fingers trail from Tōru's chest, to his lips, and Tōru winks while pretending to blow a heart.
> 
> Tōru smiles ~~███████~~ ,
> 
> " _Uwah!_ "
> 
> ~~███████████████████~~
> 
> ~~███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████~~
> 
> ~~████~~
> 
> ~~██████████~~
> 
> And that is how Oikawa Tōru started dating Hinata Shōyō.
> 
>  
> 
> ### 
> 
> ✘  
> ∟ chp 12: (Daichi) Homecoming「ただいま！」


	12. Karasuno, Again (ただいま！)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karasuno, Again (I'm home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cursory note before we get started! **★ Warnings will no longer be offered.** Feel free to [contact me privately](http://milksalt.tumblr.com/) if you have any concerns !!  
>  edit : I no longer check tumblr messages ,though I should get asks. My Discord information is also in my profile.
> 
> lee-senpai is a cool beta like a volleyball ♣

 

It's been eight months since Karasuno High School's graduation ceremony. Eight months since Daichi'd made the rounds of all the rehearsals, when all the students had to learn the appropriate timings of when to stand and when to sit and when to bow, each rehearsal more lackluster than the last. Last year, the volleyball club seized their opportunities, making it further than he, or Suga, or Asahi, or anyone else could have presumed possible. And who would, given the club's state, when the three of them first joined?

Daichi has had lots of practice standing attentively. He needs none of that practice standing in front of Karasuno's front gate. The air is fresh and bold.

Daichi strides through and indulges himself in a small lap of the grounds.

There's the main building, where the entire school welcomed them. There's the track, visited many times during sports festivals and P.E. and mostly ignored elsetimes unless the track teams had days off and the volleyball club wanted somewhere new to run. Around the back, the club rooms: two stories of memories up, and three years of memories between the building and where the taps were.

And then, the second gymnasium.

The sounds carry a fair distance, shouts of players and volleyballs slapping the ground and more shouting in response to every play. There's a brief lull, then a shout of "Kageyama, nice serve!", and Daichi detours for the windows instead of the door.

A moment is necessary for Daichi's eyes to adjust to the sight behind the window's metal bars. The moment ends and Kageyama's serve has been tossed and he's already started his approach and Daichi's eyes widen when the run he remembers is different to the run he finds himself witnessing. Kageyama accelerates with nearly a third of extra speed, then jumps. It looks like he barely touches the ball because an instant later it's already over the net and a blur of orange in the back row is moving in to make the receive.

The ball ricochets at a crazy angle. _God_. Daichi would have needed several attempts to get that in the air.

He realises, a little belatedly, that _Hinata's_ the one who'd gone directly for the ball - it's not a tournament, where orange in the corner of the eye means Nishinoya has the situation under control - and a swell rises up from deep within in his chest.

Suddenly, he can't stop shaking.

Daichi must have shaken a little too much, because somebody notices him. A breathless whirl follows, of shouting and movement and loud " _Daichi-san!_ " through both ears, all at the same time.

After some moments and a slightly croaky Ukai, Daichi finds himself in the gymnasium next to Yachi, given the task of maintaining the scoreboard, and occasionally inspected by five pairs of curious new first-year eyes taking brief glances in his direction. Daichi takes note of the players. Nishinoya's on the field, Narita on the other side is off. That means there are so many members that both sides can run seven-man teams with libero substitution.

Incredible.

"Hey, Shōyō!" Nishinoya says to Hinata next to him. "You're looking good. Twist your arms a bit more, cushion, and _ta-da!_ "

Daichi beams. Nishinoya's getting teacherly! Hinata's improving his receives!

It's not long before Yamaguchi gets a touch off a hit from one of the first-years, circles behind Kageyama, and the both of them run a quick.

Kageyama's teamwork is exceptional! Yamaguchi's been working so hard! Daichi's beaming can't possibly get any brighter.

By the left of the net, Hinata shouts, "Give it here!" and Nishinoya flashes his teeth before flying into the air and sending a high toss Hinata's way. Kageyama and Yamaguchi and Tanaka are there in the three-person block instantly. Hinata's eyes shine for a second too long, his arm swings, and his rebound would have succeeded if Tanaka hadn't caught his intent and knocked Yamaguchi sideways and killed the rebound by smacking the ball down.

\-- And then _Tsukishima_ is there; Tsukishima dives, having already expected it would happen. Daichi's throat thickens, and if he swallows he might swallow his heart. The ball goes up. It's a very Tsukishima save; it goes backwards instead of crossing the net, close to where the setter is towards the right. The new first-year setter moves under it.

"Again!" Hinata shouts, already reset.

Hinata jumps. The wall rises on the left.

Instead of sending it to him, the setter smacks the ball from halfway down the court, like a dump but really a strange spike. The path is open except for the other team's libero. The libero -- twins? -- manages to touch the ball, but lands as a sprawling mess on the floor.

The volleyball tumbles across the ground a second later.

Daichi adds a point. Daichi's jaw is stuck. Daichi's heart is still lodged in his throat and clogging the airway, preventing him from breathing cleanly. He's already noticed that Hinata's next to Tsukishima, which means he's been moved in the lineup. It has taken the sight of Hinata, flying in the line of a triple block and ready for Nishinoya's toss, for Daichi to _realise_ that his small, enthusiastic, technically flawed first-year bullet of joy has become more than just a flashy decoy.

Hinata flicks sweat as he shakes hair from his eyes, wipes his brow with the hem of his shirt, and snaps his wrists as his feet slide into position. "Nice serve!" he shouts.

Tsukishima's next to him. His hands are protecting the back of his head and he stiffens as he resolutely stares through the net. "Nice serve."

Tanaka has been put directly facing Hinata on the other side. Tanaka's eyes are intense and thick with concentration -- his ball-watching reactions have definitely been honed. Examining the stare sent through the net suggests the improvement is because he refuses to let Hinata evolve ahead of him. Yamaguchi has a similar stare towards Tsukishima.

"Wow," says Daichi. His heart clunks back to where it should be.

Yachi's head bobs by his shoulder as she nods. "Wow," she agrees. Karasuno's aura is so potent that she must have sensed something even if she can't see all the detail.

Play resumes.

After a moment to appreciate Ennoshita's receive (Very solid -- Daichi can see himself in it. He has expected Ennoshita's lack of presence as a Captain before leaving. Ennoshita's been training to make up for his reflexes, and has still stepped up to become what Karasuno needs), Daichi watches the first-years.

"Unorthodox."

"P- Pardon?" Yachi asks.

Ah. Daichi said that.

Daichi elaborates, "The setter on Hinata's team."

"Setter ... oh! That's Sei, Fujihara-kun's younger brother."

" _Fuji-A!_ " shouts Hinata.

The ball lands in Sei's hands and he sends it across the court.

"Fujihara is the other side's libero," Yachi adds helpfully.

Daichi watches as Hinata spikes thin-air, because Kinoshita gets it instead.

"How long has he been playing volleyball?" Daichi asks.

"Uhm ..." Yachi pauses. "Fujihara-kun invited him from the kendo club around two months ago."

Nishinoya gets a receive. Chance ball. On the second hit, it's accidentally tossed into the net. Sei does look like he's been playing for two months, an interesting injection of shrewd ideas despite not being a prodigy. He only has two consistent sets and Daichi wonders if he'd been messing up or had been attempting to position the ball elsewhere.

On the other side of the court, Kageyama makes a hand gesture hidden by his body and that team nods.

Daichi's experience knows that it's hard to realise what is missing until something similar is found, and Kageyama's signal makes him realise that Hinata's side hasn't communicated between rallies even once.

The ball comes back again. Nishinoya moves to toss, there's a current of energy as everybody synchronises like the breathing of the Earth over a field of wheat-stalks, and Nishinoya sends it to Tsukishima and Tsukishima scores.

Daichi adds a point, notices the score and halts. Nishinoya can only set if somebody else receives, and their primary setter is embarrassingly readable. Both teams are even, which cannot feasibly be explained by having both of the strongest defence-makers on the team, because Tsukishima's incredible blocking and Nishinoya's prodigious talent does not mean the other side is _bad_. In volleyball, if there is even a second of hesitation over who should get the toss, the point could already be lost.

The score is even and there's no communication.

A blur of orange flashes as Hinata jumps again. " _Fuji-A!_ "

Two people are in position to make the block. The last time Hinata shouted 'Fuji-A', the ball did not go his way, so the other team has switched to read blocking. Tanaka stares Hinata down through the net, and Daichi knows both their reaction times are persistent. If Daichi were to spike while marked by somebody like Tanaka, he would be hoping that Hinata was running decoy to thin the blockers apart.

Hinata can't run decoy for himself. Sei sends the ball to Hinata, and Tanaka shuts it out completely.

Tanaka howls. " _Yoooooooooo!_ "

"Egh," Hinata exhales, to a chime of " _Don't mind, don't mind._ "

"The name isn't a signal," Daichi mutters as another spike is shut by Tsukishima. "How are they communicating ...?"

Daichi is still wondering by the time that Tsukishima moves into the back row. Tsukishima adjusts his glasses and his fingers tremble slightly as they nudge the band. Even so, his pupils are moving and his gaze is intense. He's watching and thinking. Thinking about the game. Watching Hinata watching the other side.

Sei walks up to Nishinoya and they discuss something together.

Daichi shakes his head because he's overthinking things. Of course there's communication. How can there not be? He's focusing too much on Hinata to notice what's around him.

_Don't get spooked by the decoy._

He watches Tsukishima serve and remembers he has to add another point to the scores. It's a step from 19 to 20, which means he has to reach over and flip the next digit, too --

There's a smash. A jolt runs down Daichi's arm and he drops the number. Daichi turns around in time to see the remains of a three-man wall, the air still shuddering as they land onto the floor. When Hinata pumps his fists and whoops, Daichi sees powerful muscles and shoulder blades push-pulling, and briefly witnesses the air filled with black, glossy, majestic beating-wings.

And Daichi forgets to breathe.

_Don't get spooked by the decoy or he'll take all your momentum away._

 

 

 

 

As soon as Ukai allows for a break, Tanaka and Nishinoya jump first.

" _Daichi-san!_ "

Daichi grunts, "Guh," when they land on him at the same time. He stumbles a bit and bumps into the volleyball cart. It's quite wobblier than he remembers it being.

Oddly enough, one of the first year twins is watching Daichi with a small gleam that makes Daichi feel a bit like a celebrity. The first-year has hidden himself behind _Yamaguchi_ of all people and trembles as soon as Daichi sets his eyes on him.

Daichi tries a smile. "Hello, I am Sawamura --"

"Sawamura Daichi!" The first-year shrieks. "Th- The-- Shimizu-senpai's classmate!" He bows sharply, and to avoid crashing into Yamaguchi, the bow is sideways. " _It's nice to meet you!_ "

Daichi closes his mouth. He takes a breath. Tanaka and Nishinoya have read the tension in Daichi's neck and sensed an impending storm and started whistling. Slowly, Daichi pulls his gaze away from the mess, because he'll otherwise scare the poor first-year further.

 _Gods_ , Daichi prays, thinking of shy, nervous, unremarkably saintly and extraordinarily human Shimizu Kiyoko. _Please don't let her learn of the two idiots who keep the Cult Of Kiyoko spreading._

Daichi's eyes have settled on Tsukishima. He peers back to where Yamaguchi is, by the window, and then peers again at Tsukishima looking out near the door. Tsukishima's noticed Daichi by now and raises his brows, asking Daichi to speak his observations aloud. Daichi decides he has nothing to say, so Tsukishima rejoins the group like nothing has occurred.

Daichi reminds himself that nothing _has_ occurred.

"The Qualifiers brackets have been put up beside the shoe cabinet, if you would like some air," Tsukishima informs.

 _Nothing has happened._ "Ah ... Thanks. I'll have a look later."

"Suit yourself." Pause. "It's good to see you again. Welcome back."

Another smile tugs at Daichi's mouth, both corners of it. "It's great to be here."

" _We missed you too, Daichi-san!_ " Tanaka sobs. Nishinoya is by now too occupied with crying to participate in the exclamation. To Daichi's relief and eternal embarrassment, his two most mortifying crow-children are being held back by their collars by Ennoshita. Everyone else takes the chain of greetings as their cue to welcome Daichi again, though none of them turn out to be as memorable as Kageyama's and Hinata's attempt to shout at the same time, their subsequent crash into each other, then -- of all things -- awkwardly apologising. In progressively louder voices. Soon it will be a battle of shouts and Ennoshita working overtime to dissolve it. All of that is irrelevant.

There is a moment that Daichi thinks of more often than he owns up to. When he was Captain for barely a week and already threw club applications at passionate faces and slammed gymnasium doors and used his power to demand the two blockheads sod off unless they could become something the team wanted in their harmony. Daichi thinks about how easily it could have backfired and how he could have lost everything that he and Suga and Asahi would have worked for -- an opportunity to enter a tournament again.

Another great swell takes over Daichi's chest, a build-up gathers in his nose, and he shrivels his face and blinks once or twice to clear the moisture in his eyes. He watches Ennoshita diffusing the noise like a veteran. He gazes upon the others, either resigned or sharing quiet exchanges with those next to them. He's on a mountain built by emotions and moved in every part of his soul.

Pride. That's what it is. He's known it all along and just hasn't acknowledged it. This is Karasuno High School.

Daichi says, "Thank you."

Hinata picks up on Daichi's mood and his grin radiates earnest glee.

"What brings you home?" Hinata asks.

With how everybody shifts, to better hear Daichi's response, they, too, have been waiting for the answer to this question and been too nervous to ask.

"Nostalgia," says Daichi, smiling to reassure them that everything is fine. "All of you will be surprised what it is we can do, now that every school in Miyagi knows we have a strong team again, both in its players and its alumni." Daichi grins at Ukai, who has been pretending to not mind the children, and Ukai shifts in surprise. He's noticed how Daichi used 'alumni' rather than referring to him as the grandson of esteemed Coach Ukai. "And Karasuno's alumni are not to be taken lightly."

The circle has shrunk slightly. Everyone is visibly interested now, including Ukai.

"When you say alumni ..." Ukai begins.

Daichi smiles. "Don't get upset at Shimada-san and Takinoue-san keeping quiet."

Ukai stops. "The three of you recruited _everyone?_ "

"Everyone," Daichi confirms. "Asahi is incredible." Incredible at avoiding sales pitches, because they all avoided him.

The circle is swept by a howl of hype and enthusiasm. Daichi's grin widens.

"Tell us already, Daichi-san," says Nishinoya.

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Yeah!"

The chant grows rapidly through the gathering.

"Alright, alright," says Daichi. "Today, I'm dropping by, because --"

"He's been trying to build relationships with other schools again and was in the area," says Tsukishima at the same time.

" _Ooooooooooooooh_ ," says the gathering, some of its members looking wide-eyed between Daichi and Tsukishima.

"... Yes. That," Daichi agrees. Perhaps he _had_ dragged it on, just a little. "There's one more thing. For too long, we've been stuck trying to train with one court, so all of us, the alumni -- we're determined to get an expansion for the gymnasium."

" _Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!_ " the gathering choruses.

"An ... expansion?" Ennoshita asks. "That's not going to be cheap. When are you ..."

Daichi scratches his face and admits, "It's years away, at least. There's a lot of red tape but at the very least we have the Vice Principal on our side after last year. As for the cost ... Suga's talking about possible subsidies with MEXT, the ministry that handles schools, and we run a lot of fundraisers so we may quite possibly have to find somebody responsible for manning and maintaining a more permanent treasury --"

Daichi never finishes the sentence. Loud Karasuno's flock of wild crows have found something to be excited for, and the noise level in the gymnasium makes it pointless to continue. The resulting cheers are just about everything that Daichi could have expected, and more.

 _Home_ , Hinata said. He's read Daichi's mind -- it's exactly the word which Daichi has been considering.

Daichi marvels, proud and tall, filled with so much spirit that he could play an entire five-set match with more still to spare. He smiles and thinks to himself: _I'm home._

 

 

 

 

"You've done good work," says Daichi, clapping Ennoshita on the shoulder.

Ennoshita isn't expecting it so he stumbles. "Oh, it's -- I can't take the credit, that's ..."

Daichi laughs and claps his successor's back with another hearty laugh for good measure. "Hey, now. No need to be modest. You have a team of winners here."

"However --" Ennoshita halts. "Somehow, I feel like I haven't done anything."

"Ha ha. That's a sign that you've led the others to how things are, then." Daichi nods. "It's natural. You and I are different, Chikara. Different leaders. The way your power works -- don't compare it to how I used to lead."

Ennoshita's back tenses and his mouth shakes. "Daichi-san ..."

"H- hey!" Daichi says. "You're the captain. Thanks for the good work."

"No, no! The thanks should really be to you."

There's a shout from the group of crows as training is set to resume. "The old third-years are awesome!" Hinata's gushing loudly. "Awesome, _awesome!_ Did you hear that, Fuji-B?"

Daichi stops and says, "Huh?"

"Is there something wrong?" asks Ennoshita.

"N- no ..." Daichi hesitates. "That twin Hinata is talking to, that's the one called Sei?"

"Hinata?" Ennoshita turns around. "Yes. That's right."

"Ah -- doesn't Hinata call him 'Fuji-A'?"

"On the court, mostly. He switches the nicknames sometimes for whatever reason."

"'Fuji-A'," murmurs Daichi. What starts with 'A'? 'Assist'?

'Ace'?

"Daichi-san?" says Ennoshita. "Have you ... been in contact with the Vice Principal?"

Daichi pulls himself back from his distraction. "I have. Why?"

"Well ..." Ennoshita hesitates. "There's been quite some pressure on all our grades. Kageyama's been, mmmn, moved to Class 5 without anyone saying a word, and ... the change has not been good for his stress levels." The base of a hand goes up and Ennoshita rubs his brow. "If you could suggest to the Vice Principal that even prodigies need time for their game, and this is not the way to, err, make his stardom into some sort of bigger star, that would ..."

It takes embarrassingly long for Daichi to realise what Ennoshita is saying. "The _college prep_ stream?" _Kageyama Tobio?_ Who can't do more than memorise vocabulary, that much only possible by bribing him with volleyball?

"... Yes."

Gods. How can _anybody_ expect Kageyama to play in that condition? There isn't even a pit in Daichi's gut, it's a tunnel to the centre of the Earth.

"... I'll let Suga know."

Ennoshita's eyes narrow and his gaze flashes. "Are you skirting your duties, Daichi-san?"

"Erp," goes the embarrassing noise out of Daichi's throat.

"Ha ha ha ~" Ennoshita grins darkly. "Just kidding."

Daichi very carefully pretends he hasn't lifted a hand to his chest, and very carefully makes a note that Ennoshita Chikara's sense of humour is about as bad for his heart as Sugawara Kōshi's.

... Which reminds him.

"Listen," Daichi lowers his voice and leans closer, "You have my number? Keep it quiet, but, I'm thinking of organising a reunion when the Qualifiers start. You won't _believe_ how Suga looks completely different --"

"Oi, Tsukishima!" Kageyama shouts. He brushes past. "The _hell_ did you do with that --"

Ukai walks closer with Sei, following the side of the court and gesturing, "Here, from the centre line, you'll want to --"

"-- Hinata," says Yachi, a phone in her hand, scuttling in the opposite direction, "that Tōru-san wants to know when the qualifiers --"

"-- have the memory of a _goldfish?_ " Tsukishima states, following Kageyama reluctantly, then, "Pardon me, that's an insult to _fish --_ "

The squabbling crows have dissipated to forage so it looks like it's time for Daichi to leave.

"Looks like I've overstayed my welcome," Daichi apologises. "Sorry, it seems my visit has gotten all of them overexcited."

It's suddenly that Ennoshita's shoulders crumple down.

"No, no," Ennoshita reassures him. "They're ... always like this. But thank you for coming."

Daichi says his departures and steps out of the gymnasium into fresh air. Behind him, Ennoshita raises his voice to corral the crows together. His task has all of Daichi's sympathies.

Poor guy.

Daichi pauses by the shoe cabinet to look at the brackets. As last year's finalists, Karasuno and Shiratorizawa are in different halves. Karasuno's historically weak match-up, Date Tech, is in line for Shiratorizawa's quarterfinals. Aobajōsai is in Shiratorizawa's block, though in the other quarter. Assuming last year's results, Aobajōsai vs Shiratorizawa could take place as the semis. It's ... interesting, and a little relieving. Word is that the Yahaba-Kyōtani duo have refined Kyōtani's offensive talents and after Karasuno's display last year, Aobajōsai's libero is at the head of a new fashion of libero sets. Ennoshita and the others have stepped up their training and while there is improvement, Karasuno could do with more consistency in their receiving.

A little scuttling motion in the corner of Daichi's gaze pulls his attention away from the chart and he discovers Hinata heading out of the gymnasium. Hinata spots Daichi immediately and lights up.

"Daichi-san!" says Hinata. "Can I ask you a question?"

Daichi is a little startled. "A question?" It's odd. Usually, Hinata would ask outright.

... That's his character.

Hinata nods. "Yup, yup."

"Sure," says Daichi, thinking nothing of it.

"Have you kissed before?"

To say that Daichi jumps out of his skin is to say that Hinata is sort of good at jumping. "W-- what? No! I!" Calm, Daichi! _Calm!_ "... What?"

Hinata's eyes are _imploring_ at Daichi now. God. Is that how Daichi looked when he was in his first year and Karasuno's volleyball club was near-dying and it felt like no one but Daichi still wanted to play?

"Have you?" asks Hinata.

Somehow Daichi chokes out, "W ... why?" and gods, he really shouldn't be as proud of that word as he is. But he is. He's very unprepared for an onslaught of flashbacks, and there is _no way in all the hells_ that he's going to admit that his first kiss was --

"Is that a nod?" says Hinata.

Yes, there is the tiniest of nods that Daichi is giving. Hinata is innocent. Hinata is the brightest little talented decoy that Daichi has ever had the honour of playing with. And, he's the sole reason that, last year, Karasuno managed to achieve what it did.

How can Daichi _lie_ to something so earnest and bubbly?

Hinata beams and spreads his arms wide. "Cool! Can you teach me?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 13 : (Ensemble) _Once more!!_ The Spring Tournament is here! 「同窓会」
> 
> (For those who enjoy my style and exclamation!mark!ideas, a small advertisement: I have a gratuitous pet project parallel over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8632426). Exclamation marks? well, see exhibit A: jaded!Romantic!pyro!magician!sniper!Oikawa)


	13. Once more!! The Spring Tournament! (同窓会)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Once more!!_ The Spring Tournament! (Class Reunion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to lee-senpai, the dazzling dazzle who tolerates ten dozen questions tenfold ... tenth ... ten something

 

 

Since it's Karasuno, Daichi supposes he shouldn't have really expected that reunion plans would go so smoothly.

First: Daichi's arrived before both Suga and Asahi, because Asahi has a delivery to finish and Suga's train left without him on it. Which is to say that Suga almost certainly overslept and Daichi values his abdominal region a bit too much to consider that theory in front of his mind-reading tough-loving friend. Daichi spends some time wondering if he'll be able to make room for some sort of Karasuno bus fund after he's overtaken by a couple of rental buses, remarking mostly to himself about how he is not at _all_ looking forward to logistics with Suga, and then when he heads for a quick stop at the men's room ...

... He bumps into Kageyama.

It isn't awkward, discovering that the two of them would need to use the urinals at the same time. High school life and training camps and sleeping in the same room and set periods of break times all equate to unspoken systems and arrangements, and Daichi finds that Hinata's height and easy flustering means _he's_ most likely to blurt something against the Rules.

That's not the second thing which does not go according to plan. Not at all.

No. The second thing which goes wrong is when Kageyama, having led Daichi to the bit of corridor which Karasuno has claimed as theirs, opens his mouth and says, "Azumane-san and Sugawara-san should know we're here."

Daichi's mouth closes without a word.

Ennoshita laughs weakly at Daichi's expression and says, "He found out about the surprise."

Everyone has noticed Daichi's arrival now. The other members greet him and bow. Some passers-by, staring at last year's victors, glance over Daichi's casual clothing to look at black and orange, and then their eyeballs snap back to Daichi in momentary surprise when they realise he's the former Captain of Karasuno's team.

"What was that you were saying about Sugawara-san looking different, Kageyama?" asks Hinata in his quiet voice, which is to say that Daichi and half the team hear him perfectly.

Kageyama shrugs. "Dunno." And he doesn't argue, or sound annoyed. It's hard to keep blaming Kageyama when his fingers twitch excitedly and a smile pulls at his lips as he goes back to his pre-game meditation.

Daichi is filled with an incredible urge to scrub at his eyes at their friendly interaction.

It's not long until Suga shows up, breadcrumbs stuck to his chin.

"Hey!" says Suga, waving.

"He looks the _same_ ," Hinata stage-whispers to the person closest to him, who happens to be Tsukishima.

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. "Hat," he points out, looks at the crowd, and puts his headphones on.

" _Cool hat!_ " Nishinoya's already noticed.

Suga grins. He wipes the crumbs off his face and pulls out the hat tucked beneath his arm by the brim. In a flash he puts it on and strikes a pose.

" _Ooooooo!_ " Hinata and Nishinoya and one of the Fujihara twins exclaim.

"It's called a fedora," Suga tells them, with one finger in the air. The finger wiggles in an 'm' shape, like the top of the crown. "My little cousin picked it. I …" he rubs the back of his head, "think it's kind of embarrassing, actually, but I promised I'd wear it the next time I went out, so --"

"You look so dark and cool, Suga-san," says Tanaka.

"Just like a mafia boss!" the excitable Fujihara twin contributes.

Suga laughs, eyes bright and aglow. "That's what my little cousin said, too!"

An announcement starts to play over the speaker-system and Ennoshita looks up. "Seems like we're moving soon," Ennoshita says.

"Have you seen Asahi?" says Daichi, looking in Suga's direction.

"I did," says Suga, "I passed him and his bike. He quite should have arrived by --"

_"Is that a gangster?"_

_"Is he a dad?"_

_"Don't look. I think I saw him with the local bōsōzoku."_

"ASAHI-SAN!" shouts Nishinoya, waving frantically at the large man at the end of the corridor who's flinched at each whisper, wanting nothing else than to hide. Asahi jumps at Nishinoya's voice and shrinks into himself as he hurries over while Nishinoya is still yelling, "HEY! WE'RE OVER HERE! DID YOU REALLY JOIN A BIKER GANG?"

"N-- no!" Asahi stammers. He pulls his jacket into himself. Daichi has difficulty faulting the gossip as the third member of the former third-year trio is dressed all in black and has a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. A set of sunglasses hanging from a pocket and his long haired look complete the image.

It's not only Nishinoya who has a reaction to Asahi from Karasuno's gang. Tanaka's at the head of a line of crows who have edged to one side for a better view. Yamaguchi's helping Yachi offer water to some of the first years, unused to the size of Asahi's shadow.

Daichi definitely wishes to scrub his eyes now. There's a certain charm in the madness, most especially now it isn't his job to keep the kids in line.

Good old Karasuno.

Suga takes the moment to slap Asahi's shoulder and Asahi cringes.

"Did you get lost?" Suga asks.

"No, a lot of the deliveries I handle are in this part of Sendai," says Asahi. "I had to find somewhere to park my bike."

Suga opens his mouth to respond, but he's cut off by a high-pitched scream.

_"Kyaaaaaaaaaa --!"_

In unison, Nishinoya and Tanaka look like they've been struck by lightning.

"Is that who I think it is," Tanaka mutters out the side of his mouth.

_"Oikawa-san ~!!"_

"It is," Nishinoya mutters back.

"Hi-hi ~!" a very familiar voice sings, and Oikawa Tōru enters the corridor. He's ... Daichi blinks. The first word Daichi thinks of is 'glamourous' and it's all to do with the brightness in Oikawa's features, a smoothness in pale skin which belongs to the glossy world of magazines. His dark jacket gives youth where Asahi's gives age, has a cut that accentuates both volleyball-playing height and the broadness of setting shoulders, yet ... 'glamourous' is not which Daichi wants. Something is missing.

It's unfortunate that it's harder to identify what's missing than to spot what doesn't belong.

And Daichi has already spotted 'what doesn't belong' in the form of large glasses over Oikawa's nose.

"Shh! Try not to call too much attention to me, o-kay?" says Oikawa to his crowd of female high-schoolers. He winks. "Today, I'm Oikawa Incogni-Tōru!"

The fangirls squeal amongst themselves. They love it. Daichi can't help it when he wonders if anybody _other_ than Oikawa Tōru can get away with a line that cheesy.

"Is Iwaizumi-san here too?" one of the girls ask.

"Unfortunately not," says Oikawa. "Iwa-chan is in Tōkyō. My social media? Yes, I'm going tonight. Wow, he has such a devoted fan. I'll let him know you asked for him!"

Daichi is spared from wondering if the absence of Seijō's former Ace is the cause of the strangeness when Ennoshita's hands land on Nishinoya and Tanaka's collars, an instant before the crows forget themselves and cause a scene. Ennoshita doesn't have to say a word because his aura is enough intimidating.

Quickly, Daichi takes half a step closer to Asahi in the other direction.

"-- was going to check up on my beloved Kitagawa kōhai, so I'll see you around," Oikawa's voice says, cutting through Karasuno's antics. Daichi's gaze trails to Kageyama who has stiffened forebodingly, Kageyama's ears tuned into the Kitagawa-daiichi line.

The fangirls are dissipated expertly and they leave with disheartened sighs.

Oikawa smiles and waves when he reaches Karasuno's party, saying, "Yo-ho, Karasunos! Hello, Tobio-chan. Hello, everyone else. I see lots of new faces, who's this new setter you've been telling me about, Shō-chan?"

 _Shō?_ thinks Daichi.

"That's Fuji-A, Tōru-san," says Hinata and Daichi starts.

The words break whichever spell that Oikawa's presence has placed everyone under, as everybody turns to look at Hinata save for the first-years and Kageyama, who is still staring in Oikawa's direction. The two Fujiharas have also looked up, and the moment filled with head-movements is so odd that Daichi decides: Karasuno must look like a flock of pigeons.

Oikawa shifts the weight over his feet casually. "'Fuji-A?'" Oikawa queries.

"Yeah," says Hinata.

One of the twins step forward and bow. "Hello, I am Fujihara Sei, the new setter," he greets.

"Oikawa Tōru, former captain and setter of Aobajōsai High." Oikawa bows back. "Best of luck in the position! Sometimes, Tobio-chan can be a bit of a nightmare ~" Kageyama stiffens in the corner of Daichi's vision as Oikawa looks around. "Hmmmm, anyone know where they're handing out the informational booklets? Over there? Thank you, thank you."

As abrupt as his entrance, Oikawa strides away.

There's silence. Sei turns to look at his twin, asking, "Nī-san, was Aobajōsai High School a good school?"

More than half the team falls into a coughing fit and the other Fujihara shrieks. "They were -- they're really good! The teal and white team, re- remember?"

"Oh, those guys," says Sei.

"Hinata," Daichi says when he remembers how to use his voice, "You know Oikawa?"

Hinata nods and beams at Daichi and Daichi's gut twists a little upon recalling their most recent meeting, Hinata cornering him after practice, like --

"Yup!" says Hinata. "He helped us fix everyone."

Something about that doesn't fit correctly in the mind. "Fix ... Karasuno?" Daichi asks.

Nearby Daichi, Suga's eyes have sharpened imperceptibly, noticeable only by those who know him well, and his head has tilted enough for the shadow beneath his brim to cross partway through his eyes. The words have activated some memory also in the second and third years, as most of them start shifting. Of all of them, Ennoshita looks the most uncomfortable.

"What Hinata means, is ..." says Ennoshita, forming words slowly, once it appears most of the eyes have trailed to ask him to hold the burden of the explanation, "For a while, we had ... disunity in the team. Hinata really, err, aired out the difficulties which we were all reluctant to mention, for one reason or another --"

Suga slams a fist into his palm. " _Ah!_ I see what you've meaning to ... Hinata," Suga reaches out to ruffle orange hair, "Where did you pick up the word 'fix'? That word is a bit too strong for a team disagreement."

Hinata blinks up past Suga's arm and peers curiously at his face. "Too strong?" he asks.

"Yeah." Suga nods. "It's like ... people are people. You can't 'fix' people. Okay?"

Hinata tilts his head thoughtfully. "Okay," he says.

Suga grins, takes his hat off, and puts it on Hinata's head.

Nishinoya takes a great interest in this, leaning forward and staring at Hinata eye-to-eye. "You went and shrunk, Shōyō," he says.

Hinata looks affronted. " _What?_ "

"That," and Nishinoya makes a strange series of hand gestures around his head. "That hat. The bedora. It _crushes_ your spikes' extra air!"

Hinata squawks and his arms go up and he flips off the brim accidentally. What ensues is a wild and frantic attempt to prevent the hat from landing onto the ground, which cumulates ultimately into Hinata running into Tsukishima's side. Tsukishima reaches up to remove his headphones and stares.

"The circus act is back," says Tsukishima.

Hinata clutches the hat like it's about to escape from his grasp. " _Who's_ a circus act?" he says.

"You, of course," Tsukishima responds. His eyes flicker at the air above Hinata's head. "Wow. Your hair _does_ make you taller. Too bad it's flat."

Hinata frowns. "... Do you want me to punch you?"

The words cause Daichi to be very aware of his surroundings suddenly, though he isn't able to place why. The awareness brings to his attention that Asahi has shivered a little, and one of his feet have slid behind Daichi as if Daichi would be able to hide him.

Suga notices the movement and looks at the two of them with confusion and concern. "What's wrong?" asks Suga.

Asahi holds his stomach and blanches, muttering, "I heard that in your voice."

"My voice?" Suga repeats. He looks at Daichi. "Hinata sounded like myself?"

Suga's pointed glance makes the liquid in Daichi's gut burn as he realises the awareness is a subconscious protection mechanism from hits to the abdomen. Daichi feels his core clenching at this thought, and ... well, he knows where his breakfast is, now.

"Daichi?" asks Suga.

"No," Daichi lies quickly. His discomfort is betrayed by a twitch in his smile, which he's sure is no longer as gentle as it's been before.

Suga's eyebrows drop and Daichi wonders if he shouldn't have tried. "Daichi --"

That's not a good start. "Urk," Daichi croaks, losing his voice around a gas bubble.

"-- is my voice really that prepubescent?" Suga finishes.

That's not a -- that's not a response Daichi is expecting, actually. At all. So he blurts, "Ah?"

"When I went to enquire about the subsidies, they ..." Suga winces.

Asahi gulps nervously. "What happened?"

"They ..." A sigh. Daichi's gut prepares for the worst. "They asked me to go back to school. They thought I was _fifteen_." Suga's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "Could it be my voice? Daichi? _Asahi?_ "

Daichi decides not to let Suga ever know that his stomach relaxes at the news. Upon feeling Asahi exhale in relief, he swiftly enters an unspoken pact with his fellow collaborator that neither of the two were to discuss their fear ever again.

"Y- you're fine, Suga," says Asahi.

"Are you sure?" Suga doesn't look convinced. "Is this how you feel all the time, when people mistake you and your age, Asahi? Daichi, do you think I should find some vocal therapy --"

To Daichi's discredit, the only word he hears is _therapy_.

"No, no!" exclaims Daichi, while waving his arms. "No! Suga. No need for therapy."

Suga's expression tells Daichi that he's still determined to punch him. Bad Thoughts are Bad, and Daichi has let himself get just a _little_ flabby, recently --

When Suga's gaze goes around the crowd, even the first-year crows have the sense to shiver from a larger being.

"Are you sure?" asks Suga.

There's a unanimous chorus of: "Yes."

"... Okay," Suga agrees.

Oikawa emerges again with such timing that, had Daichi not seen his figure approaching from the distance, he would have thought that he's been waiting.

"What an interesting bracket," Oikawa comments, tournament booklet open in front of his face. He doesn't pause for a second, his walk full of purpose; Daichi watches simply as Oikawa pauses in front of Hinata and bends down to narrow the distance between them.

"I'll be going between yours and Seijō's stands, Shō-chan," says Oikawa. His eyes flick upward, meet Tsukishima's face, then drift down to the top of Hinata's head. He reaches out and proceeds to ruffle Hinata's hair back into shape, his hand where Suga's hand had been. "Make me proud, okay?"

The buzzer beeps and another announcement echoes through the halls. It's time for Karasuno to go.

"I'll be seeing you all later, Karasunos," says Oikawa, waving a hand as he walks away.

Hinata gives Daichi a glance when he hands the hat back to Suga.

"Er, Suga-san ..." Hinata murmurs, and licks his lips.

Suga takes the hat back. He's mindful of how nervous Hinata is. Daichi doesn't want to acknowledge a feeling like salty, mossy seaweed draping around his ribcage, a clinginess which beckons him to wonder about Oikawa's interest and wonder about conspiracy.

"What is it, Hinata?" asks Suga, just as softly.

Hinata shakes his head and the seaweed cobwebs are pulled away.

"I think I get it," says Hinata. "No more fixing things."

"Great," says Suga. "It's always best to look at other options first - find out what it is people want and try to negotiate expectations. It's when that fails that you can consider it time to start removing."

Hinata nods.

Suga smiles.

Suga is sure and Daichi trusts Suga. So Daichi swallows the remaining discontent fragments, and says, "Let's go find a seat," to Suga and Asahi.

The two of them nod back, the three of them say their goodbyes, and last year's graduates part ways with the current crows of Karasuno.

 

 

 

 

It's odd, watching a team that Daichi is no longer a part of, filled with members and colours which Daichi's heart is achingly familiar with. Three years is too short. His high school volleyball life had barely begun when time moved on and moved him away. Kageyama and Sei toss to the players as they perform their warm-ups. Everyone's forms are different: unfamiliar or enhanced. It's all not the same.

"Thanks for organising this reunion," says Suga, softly. "It was good seeing everyone again."

Asahi nods on Daichi's other side. He doesn't speak and doesn't need to - Daichi sees the tense knuckles protruding from warm hands.

Daichi nods. "Yeah."

Karasuno's members hustle into line at the end of the court. Hinata tip-toes over to Kageyama's side after they bow and moments before everyone moves into formation.

"Eh?" says Suga, jerking forwards upon realising what he's seeing.

Asahi's realised the same thing. "Hinata's --"

"Wing spiker," Daichi confirms. There are loud shouts as Ennoshita hypes the team. "He wants to be Ace."

Bells toll as the whistles blow and Daichi holds his breath.

It's time to start the game.

 

 

 

 

Tobio likes twirling the volleyball in his hands. Twirl. Twirl. It revolves, kinda like it's loading. Tobio feels the air inside it and listens for the echoes when he smacks it against the ground.

 _"Let's make this with everything we've got!"_ \-- From Karasuno.

 _"We're gonna stop those serves!" --_ From the other team.

None of the words matters. The image of Oikawa-san is strong, today. The smile that glasses can't disguise and the disappearing-in-freeze-frames serve memory is clear.

Hinata's shape burns up the rest of Tobio's brains.

("Hey, Kageyama," _why are you acting like a king again?_ "For the serve, can you go for the libero?"

Oikawa-san told Hinata to make him proud. Tobio wasn't an idiot. Oikawa and Hinata were on a first name basis.

"Hah?" said Tobio.

Hinata's stare was not yellow. "Can you?"

"... Do you think I can't, dumbass?" was Tobio's reply.)

Tobio doesn't care about Hinata and Oikawa-san, he'll just beat both of them together.

_"Kageyama, nice serve!"_

The ball goes up. It's a good toss.

Tobio hears bells and his fingers tingle and his arms turn into wings.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 14 : (Ensemble) This heartbeat is sound. 「約束は約束」


	14. Serve Toss (約束は約束)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serve Toss (A promise is a promise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time I have for writing this fic has changed due to several factors. Please accept my apologies.  
> (Welcome to the chp sequence which I have been looking forward to from the moment I started writing.)
> 
> Many thanks for lee-senpai and everyone else who I've bothered regarding this♦

 

 

_One and a half years ago:_

The volleyball court. Where twelve people played on a nine by eighteen metre field, in a free-play match between players who hadn't enough time to study each person's quirks yet.

"It's been a month since he's played, and his timing is still incredible!"

Yes. One month. That's right. Running around like this, Asahi hadn't done it since losing his spirits after their last tournament. One month earlier. Nishinoya berated him loudly on his poor jumping, because he hadn't turned up to practice for one month. Asahi could already feel the tingling in his legs that informed him he would be reminded again the next day.

A flash of orange was first-year Hinata Shōyō. Watch him running to tell where he planned to jump, because he shoots up in your vision from zero to max height in an instant when he tries a block. He's still very new, the blocks said. They flailed slightly. Asahi passed them with pure strength and faint guilt, no trouble.

There's a new setter which does awe-inspiring sets, Kageyama Tobio. The ball on the other side of the court sometimes led to terrifying attacks. Hinata rocketed and Kageyama sent an inhuman ball from hand to palm and Asahi swallowed the breaths he'd been intending to exhale. He smiled weakly at Suga when those observant eyes turned.

Outside, the sun sank below the night rising.

Inside, the second set began.

" _Left!_ " Asahi shouted. He scanned the field and took in the defending formation.

"Left approaching!" called Daichi, swinging out his arms and stepping sideways in quick motion. "Hinata, go back!"

Everything moves so quickly on a volleyball court. It was after Asahi sent the spike and the ball left his hand that Asahi had a chance to register that Hinata hadn't moved at all. By then, it already impacted, hurtling into Hinata's forehead.

Hinata flew back with a horrifying _thump_. How long the silence lasted after that, Asahi didn't know. He ran around the net with bile and nausea stumbling his steps, saw Suga and Nishinoya running alongside him, and then a circle of shadows was cast over Hinata lying on the floor.

"... He's alive."

_"I'm so sorry!"_

"Are you okay?"

"I- I'm alright! Really! Don't worry!" Hinata broke through the concerns. "I'm used to taking it in the face!"

"That's not a good thing ..."

Weak laughter stumbled out of Hinata's throat. In the next instant his entire body jerked back and the shoulders supporting his weight began to tremble. Kageyama's shadow loomed, cold and furious, and he said to Hinata as if the crowds were nothing, "Why were you being a dumbass?"

No fault could be given when Hinata hurtled backwards and blanched considerably.

Kageyama continued, "I know what you're thinking. Aces are cool. Being a decoy is stupid and lame. You wish you were as tall and powerful as Azumane-san, so you can be the Ace!"

"Ugk," said Hinata, stammering, "T- that's not what I think!" A silence followed, where Hinata took breath. "... Most of the time."

"You're jealous," said Kageyama.

Hinata's teeth clenched. His eyes slid aside. The skin beneath his eyes began twinging red. Jealous ... The claims scathing and true.

He really isn't that small, thought Asahi. Hinata, that was. He looked small, simply a first-year, surrounded by players already taller than average, as he tensed his shoulders into himself, but. Asahi had family who were Hinata's height. He was only small relatively. Yet he wanted to play where ordinary people would think he could not -- Middle Blocker, volleyball.

_"You can't let a guy who idolises Aces down, right?"_

Asahi reflected on his height, his strength, everything which Hinata was jealous for, thought of the unwavering determination from Nishinoya and Daichi and Suga and the others and realised: _Oh._

Everyone was stubborn and persistent, except for Azumane Asahi.

Asahi watched as Hinata scrubbed his nose. In the background, Daichi called: "Okay, let's resume the match!" and all the players moved back into position.

The whistle was blown.

 

 

 

 

Under the Sendai City Gymnasium roof lights, a block goes up on one side of the net. The volleyball flies off a hand. It slams into the ground behind Tobio's right.

The opposing team scores.

" _Don't mind,_ " Karasuno says, losing the serve.

The current serve receive rotation puts Hinata in middle front and Tanaka in middle back. Hinata crouches near Tobio's location close to the net. The other team serves.

Nishinoya moves and the serve is cleanly received.

The ball goes to Tobio, and Tobio's senses have already picked up player movement. Hinata's running back, about to quick from the centre. Tanaka has begun stepping into an approach. The ball looks like it hovers above Tobio's head.

Where are the opponents' blocks?

The middle blocker is tracking Hinata.

Tobio's fingers twitch.

Hinata jumps like he's still a middle blocker and the opposing blockers jump too. Tobio's going to use a pipe attack. At the last moment, Tobio remembers it's not Hinata-to-Azumane. It's not Azumane-san's height he's setting for at the back.

Tobio corrects when the ball touches and leaves his fingers.

Tanaka scores.

 _"Yes!"_ Karasuno shouts. _"Tanaka, nice kill!"_

In the corner of Tobio's vision, the old third-years are shaking their arms and patting Azumane-san on the back. The pipe was his specialty. Oikawa-san isn't with them,

_("I'll be going between yours and Seijō's stands, Shō-chan.")_

and Tobio shuts away useless thinking to concentrate on the game.

Register the field. Concentrate, concentrate. They have to win today's two matches and then they can play centre court again tomorrow. The team they're playing is not strong though not weak and Karasuno cannot drop their guard. They rearranged their blocks after losing the first set and Hinata is on his weak side of the court. Concentrate.

Tsukishima prepares to serve. Tobio's gut decides and he signals their next move will be another trick of Hinata using his old, middle blocker skills. Hinata will find an open space. Narita, the real middle blocker in front, will help with decoy.

Everyone nods and Hinata's nod is a bit slow. Hinata's not looking at Tobio. Hinata's looking past Tobio -- up, up, up ...

Up and into the stands and one of Tobio's memories.

Oikawa greets the old third-years with a wave and a _Best Setter Oikawa Tōru_ smile. Tobio's heart makes a twist which hurts and stings brown like Oikawa-san's hair and Kitagawa-daiichi blue.

The court is wide and long. On the ground and off a serving perch, it's too huge for one person to defend and for one person to conquer. Tobio doesn't know what a plane is but he knows about plains. He once saw a TV playing some video on birds that live in plains. They had big wings and glided at high heights instead of flap-flap flying high.

Tsukishima's eyes flick to Tobio. They accuse him of cowardice. Tobio's dislike for the judging is so strong that it perfectly makes the pain counter twist, and the next breath Tobio takes is clear again.

Tobio snaps his attention back. The ball is played.

Hinata flaps-springs- _leaps_ on a court where feet can't catch up to wings, and Oikawa-san is high.

(Tobio's colours are black and blue.)

 

 

 

 

 _And ... there!_ Hitoka cheers, drawing a circle around the bottom of the table. Karasuno won 2-0, but did she add the points of each individual player correctly? Some of the numbers are wriggling a bit, trying their hardest to escape the lines. Her doubt nibbles at the paper's edge.

Hitoka rubs her eyes and runs her pen down Dewaichi High's column again.

Ugh. It was a bad idea staying up for the next episode of that new drama.

Hinata's head shoots into view from the other side of Hitoka's arm.

"Yachi-san!" he says, and beams.

Hitoka barely shuts down a squeak. Everything flips. Somehow, thank the gods, she's able to concentrate on the wildly flying notebook and on catching the pen. And she _catches it!_ Pat on the back!

Go, go, Hitoka! Get that self-confidence going, girl!

... Then Hitoka realises that she's not the only person who's holding the pen.

"Gah," says Hitoka, and she must have turned so red that she's erased weeks of self-esteem grinding.

Spontaneous blushing. _-500 EXP._

Hinata's smile. So bright, it's like the sun, peeling off layers of skin. _You have earned 1 Heart._

Hitoka hastily turns her gaze back to the notebook to make sure she hasn't accidentally done something like scribble an entire line through the entire page. Nope. What a relief. She closes it and clutches it in her fingers a bit more tightly than she really needs. _Would you like to save the game?_

Hinata drops the pen into Hitoka's hand.

"Did -- did you need something, Hinata?" asks Hitoka, trying not to think about how proud she is for stumbling her words only once.

"Not really," says Hinata. His head tilts, slowly, a bit like it's attached to a rattling kodama bobblehead. Hitoka can't help but expect his spine to make a snapping noise soon. "I wanted to say thanks. For all the stuff."

 _The stuff._ Hitoka's gaze trails up the stands to Oikawa Tōru, this Tōru-san who Hinata's been talking to, the Grand King. The glance goes unnoticed by a face buried in the tournament booklet again.

"That's okay," Hitoka says. "I'm glad I can help. You care about him, right?"

"I don't know."

Hitoka blinks and feels a little like she's been slapped by a giant trout.

"W- what?"

Hinata -- hasn't Hinata been obsessed with Grand King Oikawa Tōru for months? Hinata was _just_ talking to him, both of them on a first name basis! Shouldn't he care about him?

Yet he said he didn't know.

... Which means Hitoka is wrong, so maybe she shouldn't have guessed, so it's all her fault. She's been watching too much TV, a- and, it's gone and made her all _shippy mode_ in real life, too! Hitoka wants to hide behind something.

How embarrassing.

Beside her, completely unaware of her panic, Hinata follows her gaze and repeats in the same, dull tone he'd used the first time:

"I don't know."

 

 

 

 

In grand contrast to how swiftly their reunion began and ended, the second and last match of the day arrives so slowly that Daichi thinks the hall must have entered a time machine. An incredibly warm time machine, Daichi corrects, as Asahi's warmth begins an exchange with the surface of Daichi's skin.

Daichi does not blame the gentle giant for why his trembling has intensified, little by little. Daichi, too, would have done the same, had he been in that situation. Oikawa Tōru is on Asahi's other side, though not on the seats, leaning against the railing and peering down interestedly.

Their simple problem lies in the fact that both Daichi and Asahi are between Oikawa Tōru and Sugawara Kōshi. There's an angel-aura around Suga's hair and a smile on Suga's face stitched from a horror film mannequin.

Gods. Asahi swallows as if he can stave off his gut and its impending earthquake. Daichi regrets not bringing stomach medicine with him today.

"Ah," says Oikawa, the tournament booklet open in two hands, reading from a bracket which Daichi would have assumed Oikawa memorised already. "This semi-finals match, you've played this school last year. Wakutani South. The ... first match?"

"They were top eight," Daichi offers. "The second match."

Oikawa blinks then nods understandingly, saying, "Of course, of course. Excuse me. Sometimes a person just forgets things."

For some reason, Daichi thinks that Suga's suspiciousness _skyrockets._ Perhaps it's to do with how Suga's missed his chair and accidentally pinched Daichi's leg instead. And let it be known that Suga has been a setter for a third of his lifetime, therefore his finger strength is stratospheric.

Daichi tries a smile and Asahi nearly makes a jump for it in the opposite direction.

"How did you meet Hinata?" Daichi asks, searching for some change of topic.

"Complete chance," says Oikawa. He closes the booklet, folding it in half. "I work at a sports shop at the shopping district uptown."

Asahi looks up alertly and asks, "The one near the swim centre?"

"That's the one!" and Oikawa winks, snapping his fingers. "Why not visit? You're always welcome!"

"A- ah," begins Asahi, in a tiny voice. A small fidgeting enters his feet, his fingers sneak up to adjust his collar, and he gives a nod which appears far more confident than he must have been feeling, "I'll, um. I'll consider it, t- thank you."

Oikawa smiles with closed eyes. The worst of the tension has dissipated and Daichi allows himself a small sigh.

... In hindsight, Daichi would no longer be surprised that that's when Oikawa stretches and his eyes crack open.

"Sugawara Kōshi-san, was it?" Oikawa asks conversationally, looking in Suga's direction.

"... Yes," says Suga.

"I saw you said something to Shō-chan," Oikawa says and removes his glasses, extracting a cleaning cloth from an inside breast pocket. "It wouldn't happen to be anything about friendship, would it?"

Suga's fingers clamp against the side of Daichi's thigh again. At the same time, Suga says, "That sounds like you have an interest in Hinata."

The temperature plummets. Daichi thinks amidst the pain and suffocating tension: _Gods, have mercy._

The cleaning cloth stops drawing circles on the glass. Oikawa lifts the lens into the light and inspects its reflection. "Don't sound so accusatory, Mr. Pleasant," he comments, laughing lightly. "He's good friends with Tobio-chan now. I'd hate for my cute kōhai's heart to be broken because of an inappropriate comment made by another person - you understand, as a fellow senpai?"

"That's very understandable," Suga agrees, and smiles back. "So then, you should understand that I have quite similar concerns about what you're teaching, wouldn't you agree?" It's about as subtle as hissing blue fire and ancient ice, and Daichi thinks nobody deserves to be around Suga when he's this way.

A hand reaches up as Oikawa pushes back his fringe. It's not from nervousness. His posture remains strong and his eye contact has not faltered.

"Teaching? Shō-chan? I'm only helping with his volleyball," says Oikawa sincerely. He replaces the glasses atop his nose, and when he smiles, it's honest and unassuming. "I'm hardly teaching Shō-chan anything." He blinks. "Now, the next match is starting. It would be ... hmm, wouldn't he be upset if you tried jumping to conclusions again?"

 

 

 

 

If there's anything which Tōru likes about those of Karasuno, it's in how honest all of them are. They would rather fidget and whisper and stay silent. They would withdraw before seeking sympathies, and withdraw before participating in cellphone games where rumours were truths and truths were known as cries for attention.

The three former third-years - they try to stay silent. They whisper amongst themselves, and exchange shared glances with meanings which Tōru doesn't understand. Not that Tōru needs to.

Tōru's already gathered the information he's been curious about, _and_ picked up a surprise discovery from the tournament booklet.

So, whatever they're talking about? It doesn't matter at all.

On Tōru's other side, there's a group of fans, who cheer when Tobio makes a particularly attractive play. Fifty percent of them are females that prefer cute, black-haired, talented boy-next-door types. They giggle whenever Tobio flicks his head.

It's quite nauseating.

Tōru remembers, last year, when Iwaizumi and Matsukawa discussed Wakutani's line-up as potential opponents. All their players save their libero were in their third year. Their captain was their ace, relatively short, a highly-skilled air combatant inspired by Karasuno's Little Giant.

This year's team is solid and unremarkable and boring. They're good, of course, to have made it to the semi-finals. But if they were to play against Date Tech then Tōru thinks it would have been just as interesting as watching a ball bouncing between two walls.

Tōru's about to leave when it happens. Shōyō stepping into an approach he's seen hundreds of times - from opposite the court, and looking down on the court, and on a computer screen. One step, two step.

Shōyō's arms pull back, and the blockers jump. The ball falls over Tobio's head.

And time _stops_.

Tōru will think, later, that it's some chance. It's a brief glance which Tōru gives Karasuno's side, to see what sort of toss Tobio has chosen. In that moment, some fraction, Shōyō's pupils flick from where they're watching the ball, seize Tōru's gaze before he's able to finish looking away, and Tōru's feet still.

Time resumes. Tobio is perfect, Tōru notes, though all he can see of him is a faint silhouette out of focus, because Tobio's set is pinpoint and inhuman and unfair. The block is high and wide. Shōyō draws back to swing and Shōyō's eyes are glowing in the shadow cast by his fringe, still staring at Tōru instead of at the block in front of him. His lips move. His body is still rising.

_("Volleyball?"_

_"Yup. Volleyball. C'mon, Iwaizumi-kun! You can't play volleyball with one person, you know.")_

Tōru jolts forward. The railing is hard within his hands. He ignores the group of former third-years glancing in his direction.

Shōyō's eyes return to where they should be looking. The gaze may be broken, but his expression hasn't changed. All the muscles above his neck are loose like he's never abandoned the trance.

His hand connects. The ball flies into a non-existent gap between a thumb and forefinger. Its trajectory bounces off at an angle, deflected sideways out the court where no players are waiting.

A pair of orange eyes had been brown.

Karasuno scores.

Shōyō gets swarmed by team members cheering and congratulating him on executing the high-level play. Shōyō tries the attack again. He doesn't look at Tōru, plays how he's meant to play. The ball rebounds into the wrong side of the court.

Tōru has no chance to confirm if the brown eyes were from shadows or his own imagination.

_("So here, see the top of the string? Pretend that's a net, so when you spike what I toss to ya, you gotta hit it over. 'Kay, Iwaizumi-kun?"_

_A nod, with bright, brown, determined eyes.)_

Tobio is saying something to Shōyō. He's pointing at the net. Shōyō asks something. Karasuno's captain steps in to add some extra word. With enviable energy, Shōyō pumps his fists before jumping up and down.

"Cute," Tōru murmurs, resting his chin against the back of his hand.

On Tōru's left, he feels Mr. Pleasant watching as if Tōru can't see past his fringe.

Mr. Pleasant's eyes are on Tōru, but right now, Tōru has other matters to conclude.

And Tōru knows he will.

 

 

 

 

"Hey-yo ~" a dulcet voice says from nowhere, and Hitoka jumps behind her stack of towels.

Hitoka gasps. She's suddenly extremely proud it's not a screech. Not that -- and Hitoka looks up -- not that Oikawa Tōru seems to realise there's any difference, because his eyes have widened and he's raised his hands in such a classic gesture of innocence that Hitoka panics and prays he doesn't think she's going to get him arrested.

No. _No._ No no no. Absolutely, definitely, completely infinitesimally resolutely _no way_.

"Oh, my," says Oikawa. "I'm very sorry to have spooked you. Would you be Yachi Hitoka, Karasuno's manager?"

Hitoka stiffens and her jaw flops around.

"Y-- yes!" she says.

Wow. He is _so_ overwhelming so close. Tall, well groomed, handsome -- all the allure of having your very own movie star hanging off your arm and being able to say he's your boyfriend. Hitoka spies a few misaligned seams and a tightness around the shoulders, so huh, it seems his well-fitting clothes _aren't_ tailored, then:

  1. tries not to look like she's checking him out, and
  2. tries not to go cross-eyed by his really nice cologne.



A small, confused-but-still-super-endearing smile on Oikawa's really nice face tells her she's failed on 3. all of the above.

Hitoka's smile pins itself on opposite ends of a dartboard. Her spirit leaves through her nose to enter the next realm. Critical hit.

_I want to die._

Oikawa's hands wave around a bit like he's nervous, yet a bit also like he's swatting at flies.

"Did I surprise you, Yachi-san?" he asks. Then he blinks, and shakes his head. "Ah -- if you don't mind me calling you Yachi-san, of course."

Hitoka shakes her head and wonders how his hair is so fluffy and bobbing, since her hair hardly swishes at all. "N- no! I mean, yes! Um, that is to say, I don't mind, and, also, you didn't surprise me!" ... any more than usual.

"Are you ..." Oikawa's eyes flick sideways.

The next thing Hitoka realises is that she's being pulled sideways, and that Oikawa's other hand has caught a volleyball where her head had been.

"Sorry!" A person yells, after Oikawa rolls the ball across the floor.

"Please be more careful," Oikawa tells them.

 _He's so hot_ , thinks Hitoka. Hurriedly, she corrects, _in a temperature way_ , just in case there's a mind reader in the building, and does her best to tune in to any mind readers' mental signatures so she can project her relative location almost tucked under his shoulder.

Hitoka sneezes.

"Oh!" says Oikawa, and lets her go.

"I'm sorry!" she stammers. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Not at --"

"Don't mind ~" Oikawa taps his upper lip like they're sharing a secret together, and. Oh. _Shimmery._ Oh god. "I have a question I'd like to ask you, Yachi-san."

"Y- yes?"

"Your chat ID, is it _bird8187?"_

Hitoka squeaks. "How did you ...?"

"Lucky guess!" Oikawa reaches into his pocket and withdraws an extremely crumpled tournament booklet. He unfolds it twice and points. "This has the managers' names in it, you see. The 'ka' in your first name is written with the character for flower, or 'hana'. And, 8187 makes _yachi hito ha na_ in goroawase number play. And," he smiles nervously, "I didn't think Hinata-kun would be the kind of person who'd watch _Tomorrow's Flowers."_

"You watch it?" Hitoka blurts.

Oikawa does a little gesture that's a combination of a shrug and a nod. "My older sister is one of the producers."

A part of Hitoka remembers she's holding onto something in her arms. Another much larger part suddenly bids her to clutch it so tightly that, if it were alive, she would probably suffocate it. Fortunately for all life on Earth, she's holding a pile of used towels. How could she have missed it?

She could see it now. Oikawa and his sister (blurry face, yet a very attractive mid-twenties woman with hair the same burnt toffee brown), having lunch and cracking jokes with celebrities which commoners like Hitoka could only admire from afar. No wonder Oikawa Tōru makes such a dazzling figure! He's _practically_ a star!

Oh no. What if he's offended by her question?

"I'm sorry!" Hitoka shouts. "I shouldn't have judged you, Oikawa Tōru-san!"

"J- judged?" Oikawa blinks with wide eyes. "No, no. I wanted to thank you, for letting Sh-- Hinata-kun use your chat ID. He hasn't upgraded yet, as you know. I'm ... very glad that he has a best friend like you."

 _B- best friend?!_ "U- um, no, I'm not ..."

"Don't be shy about it," advises Oikawa. "You care about him, and he cares about you. So that makes you close. I can tell."

"I- I-- I ..." Hitoka's face is so warm. Can it _stop_ being so warm? She's not the only person around -- Yamaguchi passes them, pretending he's not curious at their interaction, and Tanaka's gaze has been on Oikawa's shoulders for a while. There's no doubt they all heard that proclamation.

So embarrassing.

Oikawa suddenly looks around before checking his phone for the time.

"Sorry," he says. "The bus I should take will be arriving now. Thanks again, Yachi-san ~!"

He bids her a goodbye which is very many times less embarrassing than his hello, and Hitoka doesn't flush through it. Of course not.

And so, Oikawa Tōru leaves her and her poor heart alone.

It's pure accident when Hitoka's gaze brushes past Hinata's, really. Their eyes just happened to connect when Hitoka looks around the hall.

There's a gigantic zap. She chokes. All the hairs on her body have jolted to attention, the skin beneath them tingles, and her stomach makes a very nervous flip beneath her heart. She's pinned - pinned there, like a tiny black ant with a shiny black shell among a tribe of billions. This, this incomprehensible being bigger than life and the universe, it's gone and raised a magnifying glass between her and the sun.

She could describe it as intense. Except she can't, and it's so silly. It's silly that she can't, this intense non-intensity, and it's even sillier that she's even thinking about what single word can explain the shivers vibrating her nerves and the eerie ripples intersecting inside her bones.

_Turn away._

Hitoka knows with some dreadful finality that Hinata was watching her talk to Oikawa Tōru.

_Turn away ...!_

No, she wants to tell her instincts. No, I can't. Why is it so hard to look away from those eyes, that intensity?

_Turn --_

\-- and the spell is broken.

Someone's walked between them like a passing cloud. Hitoka darts her eyes aside as soon as she's free. The identity of her saviour didn't matter in that moment. All those higher level types of thinking are silenced by the pounding inside her chest. What matters most is how she can breathe again, released from those terrifying, burning, yellow sunshine rays.

With shaky breaths, she does have time for one absurd little thought:

_Ants will only ever perceive the human's dimension in the instant before they die._

And in the distance, Hinata looks away.

 

 

 

 

By the time that Karasuno Volleyball Club is ready to leave, a chant has begun.

"Centre court! Centre court! _Centre court!_ "

"Will you all _shut up?_ " Coach Ukai roars.

"Now, now, Ukai-kun," Takeda-sensei says appeasingly, though he can't hide his smile either. "They're all excited. I'll drive back for us." Coach Ukai drops the keys into a waiting hand as Takeda-sensei turns to look at the team. "Get some rest before we arrive, everyone, you'll need it for the meeting. Good work today!"

The journey back is filled with first-years huddled, whispering, and the loud harmony of everyone else's snoring. Hitoka has ended up sharing a seat with Hinata, and Hinata stares so quietly out the window that Hitoka wonders if he's learnt to sleep with his eyes open.

Hitoka has been watching him. Just a bit. Sort of, but only after she got out of the ladies' room to splash water on her face. And Hitoka concludes, that weird magnifying glass moment, of ants sizzling under laser beams and giving off smoke which smelled and got all up in your nose like sawdust, it's all in her imagination. It has to be. Hinata is so nice and bright and sunny and shines peoples' emotions away. Hinata has been normal. Tired, but normal.

Everything from before? It must have been her imagination. E- especially since she'd just been talking to a _real_ celebrity, _Oikawa Tōru?!!???_

... so it makes sense if Hitoka hasn't stopped overreacting.

It's because the light of the setting sun is behind Hinata that she notices something.

"Um," she begins. "Hinata?"

Hinata lifts his head and blinks blearily in her direction. He yawns. "Mm? Ha-- Yachi-san?"

"There's, um, a loose thread near your collar," Hitoka informs. Hinata's head swivels and he spots the offending seam with ease. "Do you -- do you mind if I cut it off?"

"Sure," Hinata tells her.

Hitoka rummages in her bag for her sewing kit. She finds the scissors easily and asks Hinata to hold the little pouch.

 _Snip_ , the thread comes off. When Hitoka tries to take the pouch back, Hinata asks if he can see the scissors, so they swap what they're holding.

The scissors are silver, decorated with small purple flowers and tiny, painted leaves.

"Woaaah," says Hinata. "So fancy."

Hitoka goes red. Before she realises it, she's already raised her hands and waved them in front of her frantically. Is it because they're entirely metal? There's a lot of scissors with plastic components out there, but Hitoka doesn't really like them for anything other than cutting paper, really. _Maybe,_ Hinata's just surprised because he's probably been a kid who's never been allowed to play with non-plastic scissors -- _okay_ , Hitoka, stop. You're starting to judge people _again ...!_

The bus stops moving and the pouch falls off Hitoka's lap to flop on the floor. "We're here!" is the arrival announcement that follows, and the start of a procedure where "We've arrived, please disembark and meet at the gym" is repeated at least twice for every person in case they were still asleep the first, in forms ranging from Takeda-sensei's polite instructions to Tanaka's bad boy roar and drawl.

The sewing kit is on the ground under the chair in front. Hitoka discovers the hard way that, without kneeling down, her arm is too short to reach far enough, and she doesn't want to kick it out because it'll get _so dirty_.

"You should go ahead, Hinata," Hitoka says.

Hinata's doubtful, but the bus is nearly empty and Hitoka reminds him that everyone would need him there for the meeting.

Hitoka decides the stare from earlier is definitely her imagination after all.

"-- we've played Shiratorizawa before," Hitoka eventually enters the gymnasium to hear Coach Ukai saying. She quickly bows her head and ducks into position on the other side of the whiteboard.

Coach Ukai gives her a glance and continues talking.

Hitoka recognises part of the speech, the bits about past games and the statistics. She'd helped get the information together, and hearing her work being used and credited is so exciting that she'll be smiling for hours.

By the time the meeting concludes, it feels like Hitoka's legs have fallen asleep, and she stifles a yawn. Wow. So responsible.

"So ..."

The voice is out of _nowhere_. Hitoka jumps so high that she feels like she's flying.

"Yes!" shouts Hitoka ... into Kageyama's chest.

Kageyama stares.

Hitoka swallows.

_Self-esteem self-esteem confidence confidence self-esteem self --_

"Can I have the keys?" Kageyama asks.

"S- sure," says Hitoka, patting herself down. Then she remembers they're not kept on her person. "Um. Alright, Kageyama-kun. I'll get them. Do you need me to stay back and help?"

"No. I'm doing serves."

"Okay. Then, I'll let Takeda-sensei know."

Hitoka goes to fetch the keys and a special notebook. It's something she's come up with, at Takeda-sensei's request, and she watches as Kageyama fills in his name and the date and his personal training start time without being prompted. There's only three pages so far and a lot of the rows are filled with Kageyama's name.

While he's writing, Hitoka glances at the older records, and finds herself biting her lip.

"Don't stay back for too long," Hitoka's voice says. Kageyama's gaze drops down to her, and her brain catches up. "That's ... just, you're doing a lot of hours, right? Rest is important."

She doesn't mention that the lines around his eyes seem to have gotten worse. She doesn't mention that Takeda-sensei has gotten concerned. She doesn't mention that she's not sure if Ennoshita-san should be giving him revision work for his subjects, since she's fairly certain that Ennoshita has no idea that _she's_ the one who ends up doing most of the questions in her attempts to teach them.

There are a lot of things that Hitoka doesn't think she should ever mention, really. It's silly. They're a bunch of clips that play in the brain over and over, a montage of moments and awkward fears.

Hinata dragging her to Kita-Yobanchō station, running after her mother, wondering, _Have I decided too late? Will she have left before I can arrive?_

Kageyama and Hinata fighting because Hinata wants to switch to a new attack and it turns out Kageyama is scared, _so scared --_

Kageyama stressed and losing it, fighting with Hinata again. This time in public, at the Inter-High. Hitoka still could have smoothed out the tension before it overflowed. Could have.

Didn't.

She forgot things, or wasn't thinking. She wasn't aware of the problems until it was too late. The nausea of being overwhelmed by a deep, deep wrongness and crying without meaning to cry, eventually realising it's subconscious denial after weeks of sitting in lukewarm bathwater after showering instead of learning it when it could have still been useful.

There was a webpage found on the internet, inspiration scrawled hastily into an orange notebook, and a promise to Hinata: "I'll definitely work on getting over my shyness and low self-esteem." -- followed by his bright agreement. Maybe he'll discover that the promise isn't entirely to him and feel betrayed inside.

_Confidence confidence self-esteem self-esteem confidence confidence self-esteem self --_

(She'll fail to meet the promise, and Hinata who-thinks-the-promise-is-to-him will run ahead and leave her because he's found some other manager candidate to shine his bright rays upon, one so much more talented and keeps promises and with so much more potential ...)

It's such an infinite cycle. Trying not to think, which means you're thinking, which means it's harder to stop thinking. And -- Hitoka's afraid to stop, now, too. It's easy to stop. There's an alternative shaped like the stack of DVDs kept near her wastebasket. Though the last thing she wants is to fall back into poor middle school habits again.

(Telling Kageyama any of her concerns will make him upset, and he'll try to hide it, which will make Hinata upset, and then Hinata will find out that it's all started by Hitoka and he'll run ahead and leave her for someone so much more talented and with so much more potential ...)

Is it better to hurt from pretending that things are normal, or better to go against the common sense which says it's bad to intrude because people will solve things in their own time?

The notebook is returned.

"I'm done," says Kageyama.

Hitoka looks up. _There's an odd expression_ , she thinks, and she blinks while taking the notebook back. Is it ... hesitation? Was he -- was he _watching_ her think?

Kageyama's cheeks turn pink and he glances away.

They stand like that for a few seconds. It's kinda awkward, and Hitoka forces herself to stay there instead of leaving, just in case Kageyama wanted to tell her something -- but, mostly because she feels like she's being watched even though Kageyama is staring upwards like he's trying to find the sky on the other side of the ceiling.

 _He's waiting for instructions_ , a disbelieving part of Hitoka's brain calls loudly, and it's such an _absurd_ conclusion that Hitoka _has_ to dismiss it. What, that's _Kageyama Tobio._ He doesn't wait, he _yells_ all the time.

Five seconds later they're still standing next to one another and it occurs to Hitoka that maybe Kageyama wants to say something.

"Mnn, Yachi-san ..." Kageyama begins.

Hitoka stiffens to attention. "Y- _yes?!"_

"About --" and Kageyama's head drops to grumble at the floor, "about friendship ..."

 _Friendship?_ Hitoka echoes in her mind. She starts assuming again, her horrible habit returning before it can be silenced. Could it be the new buddy-buddy relationship she's noticed between him and Hinata? Or, maybe, he wants to make _more_ friends! _Wait_ , wouldn't that mean he wants to make friends with _her?_

Hitoka doesn't get the chance to turn red, because whatever he wants to say will go unsaid. Hinata will appear to say goodbye and Hitoka will wave very quickly and grow flustered, and Kageyama will clamp down on his words before closing away.

Hinata appears from nowhere.

"Bye!" says Hinata in his echoing voice, which bounces around the gymnasium walls.

Hitoka waves, attempting to keep embarrassment from showing. "Bye! Thanks for the good work!"

"Remember to _go home_ , Kageyama," Hinata shouts.

" _Yeah_ ," says Kageyama, sounding more like, **_you_** _go home_. "... Yeah."

The hall is empty, Hitoka realises. Everyone else has already said their goodbyes after a long day, with the finals match on tomorrow.

A movement past Hitoka's shoulder is Kageyama's silhouette as he walks to the storeroom.

Hitoka hurries over and hovers by its metal doors.

"Kageyama-kun?" says Hitoka.

There's a rustle of movement and the soft rattling of a metallic frame as Kageyama pulls and pushes the volleyball cart towards the doors. It's been a little shaky ever since Tsukishima fell into it. Hitoka's stomach shakes and clangs as she licks her lips, searching for the courage and confidence she desperately wants to own.

"K-- kage ..."

Kageyama's eyes are on her in an instant, so fast she doesn't see his head move. The eyes are _glowing_ , stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. She's consumed by an overwhelming sense of fate.

This is it. Kageyama is -- _so tall_. Kageyama is so much bigger and stronger and darker than her. This is how she's going to die.

The logical part of Hitoka's brain tells her it's just the light. It fails miserably at convincing her teeth to stop vibrating and her spine to unstiffen.

Oh. He's _so_ mad.

Oh. Hitoka should go.

...

 _No!_ Hitoka clutches her hands. _Self-confidence. Self-confidence, go!!_

 _"Henshin!"_ Hitoka yells.

Kageyama's eyes squint.

 _"Hah?"_ he states.

"Um," Hitoka says eloquently, put on the spot. Here goes. "Kageyama-kun, were you, um. What were you saying about friendship?"

Kageyama's eyes close.

"... Nothing," he says, which is about as convincing as that one time Tanaka-san dressed as a girl.

"Is it ... is it Hinata?" Hitoka asks.

Kageyama's lips squish together.

"No," he says.

He's definitely trying to avoid the topic because he pushes past her, stops at the closest end line, and pointedly chooses a volleyball.

"How many serves did we lose because I landed out?" Kageyama asks, suddenly.

"Um," says Hitoka, and she thinks. Her notebook has the exact record, but that notebook is with Coach Ukai right now. "... Six? I think?"

Kageyama makes a _tch_ that reminds Hitoka so much of Tsukishima that she stiffens, briefly thinking there were more than two people left in the hall.

Hitoka has an idea why he's frustrated. She still hasn't gotten over her own feeling of uselessness. But, Kageyama should be _proud!_ He's already done so much.

She opens her mouth to tell him. "Kageya --"

"I'll be fine," says Kageyama. He slaps the ball against the ground. "I want to - burn this off. The junk thinking. Thank ... thank you for your concern."

Oh.

... _Oh._

She can hurt from pretending that things are normal, or she can speak up against the crowd. Or she can take a third option, where she does something about it in a productive way. And it's _so obvious_ , but it's also _so easy_ to forget these things when it feels like there are some people that can't be spoken against.

"Alright, Kageyama-kun," says Hitoka. "I'll, um -- I'll put the notebook in the usual place. R- remember to mark when you sign out!"

Kageyama nods. He tosses the volleyball.

Hitoka doesn't stay to watch, because she trusts him. When she leaves, she's already decided. Yachi Hitoka needs to _act_. She can ask Ennoshita-san about trying to be a bit less strict on homework, after the finals tomorrow. Kageyama is _so_ incredibly brilliant and it's _so_ much more effective trying to gently convince him into doing things, instead of pointed questions or teasing. She's noticed these quirks for _ages_ and assumed everyone else knew them too.

Wait. Hitoka's feet stop, and she looks back at the windows.

Kageyama's there, staring intently at a volleyball as he prepares another serve. Her heart wobbles in her chest and she shakes as she realises her nerves weren't panic, but _warm sparks_ unsure where to go.

Maybe ... maybe they're friends already, after all.

 

 

 

 

Leaving for vacation is always a long and difficult process in the Oikawa household.

"There's some leftovers in the fridge, and --"

Tōru sighs loudly and gestures his arms towards the door.

"You're going to miss your _train_ , Kā-chan. Hurry, hurry!"

His mother has always been the worrying, absentminded type, more concerned for her children than herself.  As though she knows what he's thinking, she smiles and nods and finishes pulling on her jacket. She adjusts her collars. Without a mirror, she doesn't manage to press them back down the entire way around, so Tōru reaches out and helps her.

"Thank you," she tells him, tugging at her cuffs.

Her slim fingers tease out a chain bracelet from beneath layers of fabric, and easily, she reaches for the little bit which has fallen out so that she may tuck it inside her sleeve again.

"Finally finished?" says Tōru, in a most indulgent tone.

"Yes, yes," his mother replies lightly, and shakes out her hair. "There's leftovers in the fridge, and remember to finish those before you get anything new. If you cook, remember to clean the burner with the _laundry_ cloth, not the kitchen cloths, and do try to sun the futons at least twice per week or they'll start to smell. If the dehumidifier breaks again then --"

"I _know_ , Kā-chan. I have Motohisa-san's number. Don't worry."

There's a laugh, then some fumbling as the shoe cabinet is opened. "Kā-chan has to worry, Tōru. When is your bus?"

"10:30, Kā-chan."

"Remember they're not like your school buses, alright? You can't expect --"

"Kā-chan," says Tōru, patiently grabbing her handbag from where it sat beside a wall and holding it out, " _you'll_ miss your train, then you're gonna have to catch a plane to make it to Sapporo on time instead of going the scenic way."

"Yes, yes," his mother responds, taking the handbag. "But you need to promise me that you won't get distracted tonight, because _you_ won't have _any_ backup plans with all the baseball fans heading down to Tōkyō today."

Tōru rolls his eyes. "I won't. Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yes, Tōru."

"Really sure? It won't be easy for you to get back if you have."

"If I have to buy new dresses, I'll buy them this time."

" _Really_ really?"

"Alright, Tōru," his mother says, with a sigh and a smile. "Kā-chan is going now. Don't get distracted tonight. Take care."

She picks up her suitcase and steps out the entryway before heading for her waiting taxi.

It takes less than ten minutes for Tōru to discover that his mother _has_ indeed forgotten something, and when he spots it, he looks down at the counter and raises his brows. This isn't anything like forgetting formal wear when going to attend a wedding.

How do you tell somebody who's forgotten their phone that they've forgotten their phone?

 

 

 

 

"You've been quite verily tense today, Daichi," comments Suga.

Restaurant Mountain 29 is always busy, filled with families and patrons loyal to special home brewed sake served alongside plates of still-steaming skewers. It's no location for the easily-spooked, with the kitchen releasing erratic clanging and loud sizzling and bursts of fire, never falling into a predictable pattern. Asahi still starts at the smoke sometimes, despite all the visits he's made. His seat is on a bench which stiffens with his weight, while Daichi and Suga sit opposite to him.

"Tense?" asks Daichi.

Suga nods, saying, "Just a little bit. It's a little like you've been on edge all day, Daichi. And you, too, Asahi."

Asahi shifts. "A bit. M- maybe."

"Ha ha," Daichi laughs, weakly. "If anybody's tense today, I'd say it's you, Suga."

There's a silence as Suga hesitates.

"Yeah," is Suga's agreement. Concernedly, Suga's brows drop, and his fingers start fiddling with the brim of the hat where it lies in his lap. His gaze drifts, growing distant and thoughtful. "You're right. I suppose Oikawa's ... presence was quite entirely unexpected, after all. And the match ..."

He slips into silence again. This time, the silence is interrupted when their food arrives. Two rows of meat on a wide dish land on the table, and Suga's second sister pulls her favourite lil' bro into a headlock before saying that, if he's gonna take time off on a _Friday_ , he may as well go get them their extras himself. In her next breath, she bows kindly with Suga still under one arm, and wishes, "Please enjoy the meal."

Suga frees himself and a floating grin is all of Asahi's warning before the ceiling vanishes into shadow. The fedora's been planted on his head on Suga's journey to the kitchen. It makes Asahi feel self-consciousness, wearing hats indoors. Asahi takes it off and is a little surprised by how stiff is the weave.

The hat is handed to Daichi, who decides to examine it until Suga's return with a tray of three steaming bowls, a dish of edamame, and a plate of preserved vegetables. The vegetables are so colourful that they're undoubtedly sour, and Asahi's stomach begins to ache by simply looking at them. Their stack is also so high that Asahi's a bit sure that Suga's decided to take some liberties as a family member in the family-owned store.

They chorus, "Thanks for the food."

With that, chopsticks are lifted and eating begins. There's been little conversation after the mention of Oikawa. It's not an issue when there's a reliable topic to fall back upon.

"How is your family?" Asahi asks Suga.

Suga pauses, swallows, and has already smiled widely before flipping his chopsticks around so that he may count with his fingers. He says, "Mimi's in third grade this year, and Hachi's in seventh. He's still quite small, he'll shoot up any day now. Kara still wants to get into finance for university, and she's so smart she'll quite likely make it when next year comes. Everyone's so proud. Then Amiyo-nē's on her second boyfriend in _six_ months ..."

As Suga goes on, Asahi's a little embarrassed to admit he's lost track of who is who in Suga's family despite how long he's known him for. Daichi has an easier time, already asking questions about a Chii-san, who Asahi thinks is ... either the first cousin, or the eldest sister. So occupied with looking like he's listening, Asahi accidentally eats one of Suga's super spicy chicken pieces in his attempts to act normal, then he hastily grabs for his water whilst trying his hardest to stop tears appearing in his eyes.

Morosely over his cup, Asahi thinks, _It's quite possible your inability to remember others is why you're always left alone._

"Somebody is quite _negative_ at the moment," says Suga. His voice is so unexpected and loud that when Asahi stiffens, he almost sends his helmet to the floor.

The staredown is joined by Daichi, who adds, "You're still a cowardly lion as usual. What are you thinking about?"

"The ..." Asahi hesitates, which is clearly noticed. But he feels a dread looming if he opts for the honest answer -- that he's horrible with names. "The, um, match. I didn't ... I didn't expect Hinata to be ... that. That."

"Aiming for the next Ace?" says Daichi.

Asahi nods. "Yeah ... that."

Daichi says, "He's always admired Aces."

Asahi is prepared to agree when he recalls, _You're jealous of Azumane-san._ It'd been the first time that anyone's really admitted being jealous toward Asahi, is something which feels just as egocentric as not remembering names properly, and he searches for another topic to swap to. Asahi takes a deep breath, then says, "He ... well, did you know, why Oikawa was with us? He mentioned Kageyama, but barely talked to him, and ..."

There's a small clinking sound as Suga places his chopsticks down. "I don't think he was here for Kageyama."

"Huh?"

Suga taps his fingertips against a table's surface which his eyes aren't focusing on, and continues, "I think he wanted to know if Hinata told anyone that they knew one another."

 

 

 

 

The doorbell rings at 8:31PM and Tōru's logical assumption is that it's his mother.

"Kā-chan," says Tōru, unlatching the chain lock and turning the deadbolt, "I _told_ you that you'd forget something --"

It's 8:31PM, which is too late for salespeople or door-knockers to be passing by, and Tōru's mother has money on herself despite leaving her phone at home, so she could easily have forgone her ticket and taken another ride home.

"Grand-- er, Tōru-san!" Hinata Shōyō greets from the other side.

Tōru should have looked through the peephole, but he'd assumed, so he did not. Before he can say a single word, Shōyō's already slipped through the door and zoomed into the entryway of Tōru's home.

"What are you _doing_ here?" says Tōru.

"I wanted to see you," Shōyō replies.

"You have a finals match tomorrow."

"But you're going to Tōkyō today," says Shōyō, as if it were obvious. "And, I ..."

"What?"

"I ... um ..."

Shōyō suddenly finds the floor very interesting. His arms tense from where they're inside the front pocket of a bright, orange hoodie.

Tōru is not unaccustomed to using silence as a method of gaining answers. Shōyō will tell him, and Tōru will learn why, before Tōru will play perfect house host for his dedicated little boyfriend whilst establishing some ground rules he _really_ should have established earlier, then Tōru will go to Tōkyō.

"I wish you'd told me you were going," Shōyō mutters.

Tōru finds some slippers and invites him inside and goes to get them drinks. Shōyō follows him and hovers nervously at the dining table instead of taking a seat. His hands are still in his front pocket when Tōru returns with two cups of juice.

It occurs to Tōru that Shōyō's fixed stare at the floor is a sign that he's thinking. He puts the cups on the table and weaves around.

One of Tōru's hands land under Shōyō's cheek.

Tōru blinks when those orange eyes close and the chin tilts up automatically.

"Could it be that you want a kiss, Shō-chan?" says Tōru.

Shōyō mumbles something too vague to discern.

"I'm sorry?" says Tōru, removing his hand and leaning back. Amusingly, Shōyō's head moves forward like he's trying to follow.

"I learnt it," Shōyō blurts.

"Learnt?"

"How to ... how to kiss."

"Wooowwww," says Tōru, drawing out the sound. "It's been, hm? Less than a week? You work pretty quickly, Shō-chan."

Something else is mumbled and Tōru leans back against the table's edge when it becomes evident that Shōyō has no plans to sit down. He's musing, still musing.

Tōru has packed for the weekend. He's ready, and he has an easy twenty minutes to burn. He can wait it out.

"Tōru-san," says Shōyō, suddenly.

Shōyō isn't looking at the floor any more. Tōru didn't realise when Shōyō's head turned.

"Hmm?" Tōru prompts.

Shōyō indicates with a tilt of the head. "What's that?"

 

 

 

 

Asahi finds himself hesitating, surrounded by mumbling from the restaurant's other patrons carrying their own conversations around him. Always hesitating, as how hesitant men are inclined. The mumbling is suddenly very loud and very disorienting. A kitchen chef shouts and Asahi nearly jumps off of his chair. Both hesitant and easily spooked are Azumane Asahi, former Ace of Karasuno.

"To know if Hinata ... told anyone?" echoes Asahi.

Suga doesn't appear to notice how loud the sounds are as he takes a drink, then continues, "By saying something, especially if it's unexpected, it's possible to gauge mindsets in that moment. Quite like why I ask how all my sets are." Suga lowers his glass and his eyebrows go up after Asahi starts. "Asahi, you didn't notice?"

"Err," says Asahi. He's always attributed all the conversation Suga makes between rallies to anxiety or that it was a method with which Suga used to calm himself down. "N- no ...?"

There's a loud clunk from under the table. Daichi chokes, "Argk."

"Sorry," Suga apologises, "I wasn't aiming for you." He looks to Asahi and lectures sternly, "Remember that not everyone is as nice as you are."

Asahi closes his eyes because Suga is right. Back in high school, it hadn't taken long for Suga to pinpoint some classmates who once took advantage of that faith to borrow money, and Asahi's still not curious enough to ask how a Suga-dragging-Daichi managed to get back it all. "I ... okay."

Suga nods and picks up his chopsticks again. Realisation is like a light in Asahi's mind, that Suga's movement and tactility is a form of fiddling.

"What's on your mind, Suga?" says Daichi, having realised this an instant earlier.

Suga fiddles distractedly with the chopsticks, very obviously concerned. He shakes his head and says, "Well, I'm quite a little suspicious, though Oikawa hasn't done anything to warrant the suspicion. It's just, if he is trying to determine something, that's quite a flashy way to go about doing so --"

 _"Flashiness!"_ Daichi exclaims abruptly. "Of _course!"_

"Flashiness?" Suga asks.

Daichi explains, still with his excitably booming tone, "It's been bothering me how Oikawa's different. I sensed -- something's missing from how I remember him. He's less flashy. It has to be."

"Really?" says Suga. His fingers flutter. "He's not missing any flashiness. I thought the exact opposite, he seems to be _more_ flashier now. Asahi?"

Asahi gulps at the tone which sounds like he's being tested, weakly offering, "I ... err ... Didn't notice anything changed."

An awkward sort of silence follows, where there's a sense that the three of them ought to agree or reach some consensus, but none of them have enough evidence to support their own views beyond their own experiences and gut feeling.

The silence is broken by Daichi, saying, "He's interested in Karasuno."

"That much is certain," Suga agrees. "I admit, I was quite surprised by how calmly Hinata's responding - remember the first practice match? He's certainly come a very long way, although, it's a little like he and Oikawa were in their own world for somewhile. Why, with Oikawa, it's almost as if they're gay --"

Very loud choking comes from Daichi's throat as he interrupts Suga for the second time, his entire body seizing as he flinches at the words. Asahi is so startled that he swings a hand into his drink, which then knocks it over, and water goes spilling over the table and dripping off an edge onto the floor. Suga dives for the napkins upon reflex and collides into Daichi, whose arms have scampered in the same direction.

Asahi, leaning back as far as he can without tipping over, feels his chest convulse as worry and guilt shows up as nausea.

"I'm sorry!" says Asahi, at the same time as Daichi says, "I didn't do it with Hinata!"

Suga, whose mouth is open to reassure or tease Asahi's reaction, closes his mouth and his eyes look at Daichi directly. He blinks, then says, "Has it been _Hinata_ why you're tense today?"

"Um," says Daichi. "It's not me."

"... Daichi."

"Really! I didn't kiss anyone! _He_ asked ...!"

"Oh," says Suga, his tone as if everything were suddenly obvious, he's discovered the beginning of the universe and proved it without a doubt. "So Hinata and Oikawa are dating."

The resulting reaction, too, is threefold:

Asahi grows lightheaded from the noise levels and the smoke. How Suga reaches his conclusions by drawing connections with everything Asahi misses, Asahi finds it disorienting and overwhelmingly sense-sharpening.

Daichi chokes and turns red from his ears, to his neck, the heat slowly crawling out around his cheeks, some side-effect from a strange sort of infection or fever.

Then rather than sharing satisfaction and sneaky grins, Suga draws loops on the surface of the table whilst staring at Daichi with a slight frown.

 

 

 

 

"What's what?" Tōru echoes.

He follows Shōyō's stare to a tiny collection of little jars. Each jar is no larger than a thumb segment, and they're all varying shades of pastel, perched on the counter where Tōru's put his house keys and everything else he'd had in his pockets.

"Nothing much," says Tōru. "Gifts. Why?"

"They're shiny," Shōyō says. "Tōru-san likes these things?"

"The girls do."

Their window is open in the house, its curtain billowing in and out as the wind exhales. Tōru returns to his feet and walks over, intending to close it so he doesn't forget before he leaves.

Once the lock is clicked shut, he turns around. He doesn't expect Shōyō beside him or a flash of silver:

"You have a loose thread, Tōru-san."

It takes less than 0.2 seconds for the scissors to close. It's too late. He wouldn't have been able to jerk back, even if he wanted.

There's a tugging at his scalp, and the clump of hair falls down the side and down the arm which Shōyō has raised, drifting aimlessly to the ground as if Tōru is no longer missing a portion of his fringe.

Tōru doesn't think. His arms _move_ , and Shōyō falls.

Shōyō shouts when he's thrown onto the floor.

 

 

 

 

Suga's only warning before putting a hand to Daichi's head is when he says, "Hold still."

Daichi does, and Asahi sits there, confused at why Suga's so intent so suddenly.

Suga says, "You have quite a fever, Daichi." When he receives no answer, Suga's frown deepens, and he grabs one of the waterlogged napkins before placing it against Daichi's forehead, uses one of Daichi's hands to keep it pressed there, and stands so he may scurry off in search of something more substantial than a flimsy tissue, telling Asahi, "Make sure he doesn't fall."

Something is mumbled under Daichi's breath. Asahi leans closer just as the sentence stops. He's moved backwards when Daichi mumbles it again, and he hastily moves an ear closer, catching one word.

Asahi repeats it, "Seaweed?"

Suga's returned with a towel, so he echoes, "Seaweed?" His hands deftly rearrange Daichi like he's used to dealing with unresponsive people; he throws the napkin aside to check Daichi's temperature again, then glances around the restaurant before placing the towel to Daichi's forehead and pulls him up. "What about seaweed?"

"That's what Daichi said --" Asahi begins.

Asahi is spurned with an urge to shake his head.

Asahi does.

"I'm tired," says Asahi, rising to his feet, with no need for talking about anything. How ... unnecessary. "I -- should go home."

Suga blinks.

"... huh?" he says. "Asahi?" Suga's head swings as he looks between Daichi and Asahi. "Asahi, are you alright?"

Asahi's fine.

Asahi says, "I'm fine," and then counts the three fingers Suga's raised and answers before Suga asks the question, "Three fingers."

"Asahi's fine," says Daichi. "I'm fine."

Suga's stare is a weird stare. His features are spinning-like. He's getting smaller and smaller and the world is getting bigger and bigger and noisier than ever.

Asahi's always been quite sensitive to them, the sounds. If sound is wind then the feeling is like a pinwheel which controls a music box. The pinwheel turns, cranks the spokes, music resounds, those sound waves continue turning the pinwheel again without end. A perpetual motion music box for every pinwheel person.

A silver pinwheel spins and says, "Neither of you are acting like yourselves."

"I'm tired," says Asahi. He can feel the beginnings of a headache, a faint blockage up his nose. Too many inputs. Too much sound sounding disharmonious symphony. "I took today off, so I have to make extra trips tomorrow."

"I'm concerned," says Daichi. He teeters mid-step and leans against Suga so he doesn't fall. "Oikawa ... dating Hinata."

The three of them make it outside the restaurant without too many stares. Asahi's airways unblock and his headache vanishes with breaths of the rich, spring air. Daichi's hands reach up to the towel, then he proceeds to remove it from his forehead, intent surprisingly stable for a person who'd almost fainted minutes ago. He shakes his head, then looks at both Suga and Asahi in the manner of one who is seeking answers. Clarity from his gaze is like the three of them are still in high school as the eldest trio, those responsible for supporting the futures of the team.

Daichi waves a hand upon seeing Suga pulling out a phone and reassures him that he's alright, really, please do not be concerned.

Daichi adds to his earlier thought, "If Oikawa is dating Hinata, we know where Hinata got the idea of 'fixing' Karasuno, now. From Oikawa."

"That is quite highly likely, yes," Suga agrees.

"Hinata's still young, still growing. He's still got a lot to learn, and," Daichi hesitates. "You're not worried about him, Suga?"

Suga shakes his head, says, "I'm more worried about you at the moment."

"Ha ha. There's nothing wrong with me, Suga."

"I didn't see you coherent."

"T- that's because, err, I was, urk, thinking."

To say that Suga's expression is doubting would be an understatement. He says, "You couldn't even walk, Daichi."

"Don't worry! _Really!_ Just a momentary dizzy spell, maybe Asahi's been rubbing off on me," Daichi says. "Don't say you didn't think that Hinata's changed since we left?" With faint desperation, Suga's doubt audible in the silence, he glances Asahi's way. "Asahi, back me up here."

"Um," says Asahi, laughing nervously. "Daichi has a lot of responsibilities?"

"Yes," Daichi says quickly. "Lots of responsibilities."

Suga's smile is vastly indulgent when he raises a hand, saying, "And what would these responsibilities be --" then the light in his eyes dissipates and the words trail away. His hand is on Daichi's forehead. By the time he speaks again, it's a murmur, "The fever's gone."

"See?" says Daichi. "You can trust our strong, reliable Ace. Right, Suga?"

It's a while before Suga responds. Asahi's helmet seems to grow heavier as the silence extends, and Asahi doesn't interrupt. It doesn't feel right, regardless whether he can move his jaw in anything other than a stammer after Daichi gives him that nickname.

Suga muses, "I wonder," glancing upwards, an aimless movement unconscious in its simplicity, "if Hinata's change in position is because Oikawa is here."

 

 

 

 

 _It's bad,_ notes Tōru in a nearby reflective surface - the darkness beyond the window. The very large clump of hair on the floor hinted to it. His hair stylist would struggle to restore his hair the way it was, and maybe Tōru would have to start rocking a look where his fringe is mirrored for a while. _Not a good look at all._

Shōyō makes to get up and Tōru's foot pins him down by the chest.

"Do you know what you did?" says Tōru, slowly.

Shōyō stills.

"I saw you talking with Yachi-san," Shōyō answers.

"You _cut my hair._ "

"I don't like it, Tōru-san."

"You're not my _hair stylist_ , Shō-chan."

Shōyō stares upwards. "I don't like it when you talk with Yachi-san."

It occurs to Tōru that, in the position they're in, for Shōyō to look at Tōru's face, he has to look past Tōru's crotch first.

Tōru is suddenly very aware of the scissors still in Shōyō's left hand. They're entirely made of metal, decorated with tiny purple flowers, and must have been kept in the front pocket of Shōyō's hoodie until they were drawn.

"Hey, Shō-chan," says Tōru.

Tōru crouches, leaning forwards. He's well in Shōyō's face, now, and Shōyō's realised this -- his face goes absolutely red, then a sound like a choke bubbles from under Tōru's foot before tumbling up his throat and out his mouth.

 _Gold_ , Tōru notes, staring into Shōyō's eyes. Bright amber, fresh orange, dazzling gold.

"... eh?" Shōyō responds, voice very small.

"Shh," says Tōru, gently resting a hand on his little boyfriend's face again. "You said you learnt how to kiss?"

There's a sheen which is Shōyō sweating. His jaw vibrates. A tongue darts out and darts back in again.

It has taken until now for Tōru to realise that Tōru likes Shōyō a lot. It's kinda like, _a whole bunch_ of stars, all lighting up, stamped on the edges of elegant invitations to welcome in eternal embarrassment and playful pirouetting. Because, _gods!_ How did it take so long to realise that, surely this must be love?

Isn't it so fortunate that Tōru, clever Tōru, has long prepared for such a possibility?

"Then," says Tōru, knowing how close he is to flushing hot himself, "Do you want it?"

"Want ... Tōru-san?"

It's a question, because Tōru's back on his feet again. He doesn't wait, doesn't allow the time for hesitation - he steps down on Shōyō's left hand. Shōyō yelps, and the scissors fall free.

Tōru kicks the scissors away and kneels down to pull Shōyō up by the collar.

"I always keep my word." Tōru smiles, power in his gaze, and he closes the distance so that when he speaks, Shōyō can feel the words against his lips. "Show me what you've learnt, and I'll teach you how to receive."

 

 

 

 

_One and a half years ago:_

"Asahi-san."

Asahi can't say he didn't expect to be approached again. Hinata Shōyō's special brand of excitement and enthusiasm makes him that sort of character to do so. Upon turning around, Hinata's usual buzz and bounce was intensified. His fingers clutched together like he's not accustomed to standing still.

Without Asahi needing to come up with words, Hinata already said, "I'm not an Ace, but I can clear a path." He took a deep breath. "I'll become the greatest decoy!"

At the proclamation, the towel fell limply in Asahi's hands.

Hinata jumped, so Asahi jumped; Hinata's mouth hurtled on to stammer, "T- though!! I need Kageyama to toss to me, so I mean, uhh, eeehhhhhhh ..."

Hinata's gaze began darting everywhere but at Asahi, avoiding eye-contact. Uncharacteristic, even Asahi could perceive as much, despite for how little time that Asahi's known him. His vibes were bright, stubborn, and persistent. The nervousness which Hinata displayed calmed Asahi's nerves down to a level where he could clearly think. And, because of all the body language and the signs, Asahi deduced that Hinata was afraid he wouldn't have a role and be forced to stop playing.

Asahi reassured him of his importance, thought of terrifying speed and accuracy, and added, "I think the player that the opponents are most scared of is the player who's the greatest of cools." He made sure to meet Hinata's gaze. "I'm not going to lose."

In a flash, Hinata's quivering ceased, his head snapped up, and his eyes shone again. Then Daichi gathered all of the players together, a pleased smile audible in his words, welcoming people back as the man who is Karasuno's most reliable foundation. A stirring grew in Asahi's chest, bloomed into a thickness in his throat. It stayed there even as all the team huddled, the whole time until everyone had left and Suga volunteered to close up the hall.

Asahi remained, and Suga noticed this, saying, "Is there something wrong, Asahi?"

Asahi said, "No," and hesitated. He forced some small guilt down. "I ... I'm sorr --"

Suga interrupted with, "Welcome back," and it was with so much warm conviction that Suga, the type to be quiet about the extent of his worries, erased any fears Asahi may have had about taking his absence the worst.

With a smile and lightened conscience, Asahi nodded, saying, "It's - good to be here again."

Locking the hall was quick with Suga, who moved fluidly and comfortably because he'd done it dozens of times already. An easy flick of the wrist was the start of him tossing the keys up and down in one hand. He waited patiently by the shoe cupboard as Asahi tied his laces, always the slowest of the three to go.

One glance to the club rooms showed Daichi, waiting for them. Of course, Daichi would not have been the first to head home.

"There's something on your mind," said Suga, keys flashing when Asahi moved to his second shoe.

Asahi laughed weakly, admitting, "It's the new first-year, Hinata. He said ..."

_"The ace is so cool! There's no difference if there's a block or not, he'll just blast through them anyway!"_

_"You wish you were as tall and powerful as Azumane-san."_

"'I'll become the greatest decoy.'" Asahi quoted. "It -- sounded like a promise."

Suga held the keys still, and said with his usual perceptiveness, "You feel bad because it's quite like he's doing it even though it seems to be something he doesn't want to do."

Asahi nodded, saying, "Is it alright to let it turn out like this?"

"Like what?" asked Suga. "Have him playing the role that Kageyama would like him to play?" Asahi nodded to indicate his response again, and Suga rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced where Daichi was, began walking and thinking over his words, then finally said, "When he and Kageyama first tried to join, they were at each others' throats. If Hinata putting aside his own wants is the only way we'll function as a unit, then that's what it will be."

"We need Kageyama on the team," said Asahi. He swallowed.

"It's not like that," Suga told him. The two of them were at the foot of the steps. "Hinata seems to be the type that can convince himself into doing anything, including what he doesn't want, yes. That in itself is not inherently _bad._ There are some people who need this to learn what it is they're meant to become."

The two of them, led by Suga, climbed up to where Daichi was waiting. Suga continued, "Actually, it's a bit scary, wouldn't you say?"

Daichi heard them. "Scary?" Daichi asked from the top. "What's scary?"

Suga grinned, deliberately not answering. He and Asahi climbed the last few steps and headed to gather their belongings. They met Daichi once Suga locked the club room behind them.

"We were talking about Hinata," said Suga, easily. "The trait of his, where he gets focused and ignores the rest of the world. I'm quite glad he's only interested in playing volleyball."

 

 

 

 

"Hello --"

"Ukai-kun! You have to -- I found --"

"Um, I'm a bit smashed to go for drinks tonight, sensei --"

"Kageyama! It's Kageyama. He. I don't know if. They're saying ..."

"Calm down for a sec. Deep breath. Can you say that? Deep breath."

"Deep - deep breath."

"Okay. What happened?"

"It was his ankle. Hospital! He broke -- he broke his right hospital."

"He ... He, uh, broke his ... Shit. _Kageyama broke his ankle?_ "

 

 

 

 

The light from the smartphone casts white flames across the cavernous walls inside Hajime's futon. He scrolls through Oikawa's social media, familiarising himself with his best friend's goings-on. It's apparently the second day of the Spring Tournament. Oikawa's hobby of taking selfies with the building's artwork is the same as it's been, always been; they're some memento or another which he explains on occasion, and Hajime's already long filtered all the layers of bullshit down to 'because I can'.

Everything in the new photos is familiar, faintly ghostly, photographic negatives perfectly reflecting the world, small and distant between his fingers. Here, with the tiny screen, Hajime can be with his best friend who is three hundred kilometres away; six hours by bus, less than two hours via peregrine shinkansen, or a millisecond at the speed of light.

It feels like an instant when he reaches a message from two months ago - the only message Hajime's seen regarding Oikawa's future plans:

_Guess who has Tokyo Dome tickets to Giants VS Eagles!!_

Hajime tries not to think about how he hasn't gotten a call or even any message from Oikawa about his arrival. Knowing the asshole, Oikawa will leave it to the last minute, again, and it won't be until he reaches the city border that it will click in his brain that Hajime's there, and he will contact a Hajime who hasn't seen his best friend for half a year.

Without a word, Hajime locks the screen and returns the phone to its place by his pillow. He flattens the blanket atop his stomach, to hide any signs of the second home he's invented beneath it, and breathes in air which is filled with responsibilities to his family. Tōkyō isn't dark yet, the night illuminated by a glow seeping the space between his blinds light like dozens of parallel roads from one end of the window to the other.

People. People are what Tōkyō makes Hajime think of, where the population density is so much higher than in Miyagi, how competition is so much tougher, a single person has hardly any significance, no wonder they say the suicide rates are high.

Hajime understands very well that the last thing he wants to do is to disappoint.

_(Three hundred kilometres; six hours by bus, less than two hours via peregrine shinkansen, or a millisecond at the speed of light.)_

"You better call me when you get here, Shittykawa."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 15 : (Iwaizumi, ??) Everyone can see but few can test by feeling.* 「八方美人」  
>  _* section of[a quote](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/162585-men-in-general-judge-more-by-the-sense-of-sight) from 'The Prince', by Niccolò Machiavelli_


	15. Time Differential (八方美人) I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Differential (Friends to all sides*) -- Part A  
>  _* lit. eight sided beautiful person (idiom, used in another saying 'a friend to everyone is a friend to no one')_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lee-senpai for beta, the other iwa-chan(-senpai) for miscellanea, and others for the motivation to push through where this update started to get lost within itself.
> 
> Updates should return to being regular.

 

 

Hajime first met Oikawa Tōru when he and his mother had bumped into a woman and her son when welcoming a new resident into their neighbourhood. The grown-ups knew each other and were quick to start talking; six-year-old Hajime, seeing no relevance in the mothers' discussion about the neighbourhood association, not needing to care about the socialities between the head of policing and the lead in crime prevention, turned his attention to the other child instead.

How cool! A kid his age with brown hair.

The other boy wasn't staring back at Hajime. His mouth was crumpled and he was staring at the sky.

"I'm Hajime!" Hajime introduced himself.

The boy looked at Hajime.

"Oikawa Tōru," the boy said. "What's your family name?"

"Iwaizumi," said Hajime.

"Ohhhhh," said Oikawa Tōru. "You're those who come around and help the police with their annual surveys."

Hajime puffed his chest up. "Yup!" It's fine to acknowledge one's achievements, so long as one kept an appropriate level of mo- mo-- modes-ty. "Okā-san's been doing it for years."

"I remember," Oikawa Tōru told him, and returned to staring.

Hajime looked up and saw blue with no clouds anywhere.

"What are you looking at?" asked Hajime. Then he realised he didn't know how to address the other boy, because the boy'd given two names and didn't say what name to use. "Can I call you Tōru?"

"Sure," Tōru said absently. "I'm trying to find aliens."

"A-li-ens?" echoed Hajime, his mouth slowly going over the sounds.

"Yup."

Tōru told him things. Tōru knew lots of things. But it felt like he was bored until he realised Hajime _actually_ wanted to hear more about stars and galaxies, everything about this greater world that Hajime's mother responded to questions with "You won't be able to understand now. I'll explain when you're older."

Hajime had the oddest feeling that, because Hajime knew nothing, Tōru decided that _he_ would make sure that Hajime managed to know everything. Maybe Hajime realised this because Tōru's stare landed on Hajime's face after Hajime admitted he didn't have any idea, and those big brown eyes were so huge and wide and _so surprised_.

"Huh," was all Tōru said. The back of Hajime's mind did a strange flipping like the shuffling of playing cards and then Hajime knew Tōru meant, _There are those who admit to their shortcomings without false modesty._

"There's no point pretending," said Hajime.

All the cards in Hajime's head lined up into the neatest flower pattern ever. Tōru made a noise with his nose that Hajime couldn't work out.

Super Space Scholar Tōru went back to telling Hajime about the Milky Way.

"-- So, I think the aliens are hiding in the dark matter ..."

"Done teaching everyone about your conspiracies, Tōru?" asked Tōru's mother.

Hajime realised that everyone had finished talking, except for his new space companion.

"He's quite an intelligent child," Hajime's mother said, high above their heads, in the voice of parents talking about children while they're in the same room. "How does he know so much about space? Is it his father's influence?"

Tōru's mother continued smiling, but the hand with the wedding ring on it twitched and the cards in Hajime's head shattered. For a moment Hajime thought the overcast sky was raining, snowflake tears and glimmering water globlets from a misty waterfall.

"No, no," said Tōru's mother, with a small shake of her curly hair. "He watches a lot of TV. There was that science special, a few nights back, where they brought in a scientist on ... uhmm, KoKoChi Channel."

"KoKoShi Channel," Tōru corrected smartly, tilting his chin up into the conversation. "It was on the twenty-second. Kā-chan, can we go to the department store please? They sell the bunsen burner there!"

Both mothers laughed in a way that sounded like they were laughing about something weird that only adults thought funny. The laugh by Tōru's mother was a lot lower in pitch than Hajime expected because she had such light hair. Hajime rubbed his ears when they started discussing how he would be going to grade school soon and what about Tōru? Hajime was a bit interested in the last point, if he'd be able to meet the other boy again. It turned out they'd both be in the same year.

"Hmmmmmmn," said Tōru.

His voice was right beside Hajime and Hajime jumped at how close he was. "A- Ah?"

"You're scratching your hand," said Tōru.

Hajime was scratching his fingers.

"You should stop," said Tōru. "You'll make it bleed."

Tōru's mother's voice called, "Time to go, Tōru!", so Tōru shouted back a quick "Yea! A second, 'kay?" and his mother nodded and resumed talking with Hajime's mother again.

"Hajime," said Tōru. He stood straighter. The snowflakes left so the cards in Hajime's head lined up into the neatest flower pattern ever. Tōru said pointedly, without waiting for a response: "We should be friends."

Hajime blinked. "I thought we were already friends."

Tōru's eyes widened.

"Awesome," said Tōru.

"Yup!" Hajime agreed. His heart swelled so huge that it was too big for his body and he thought that if he took a bath then he would float on top of the water. "You should come over to our place sometime ... i- if you can. I'll introduce you to Momo-chan."

"Momo-chan?"

Hajime couldn't stop the biggest, most amazing grin from appearing on his face.

"Momo-chan," said Hajime, gigantically beaming, because Momo-chan was Momo-chan and, _oh!_ His smile kept getting bigger and bigger the more he thought of how nice it would be to let his new, brainy friend meet his other, fluffy friend.

There was another call from Tōru's mother.

Tōru made a long, drawn out noise, a bit like _Huuuuuuuuuuuuuu_ , as he reached for his mother's hand and deliberately pulled it away from her side. Before they walked off, he commented:

"Sounds interesting."

 

 

 

 

The postman had a bright red bicycle with a very special bell and every morning, Hajime would already be at the gate by the time its distinctive ring-ring-ring floated to his ears.

It did it again today, that weirdly nice trill-trill. Hajime's legs shook and his lungs were _huge!_ He could breathe in an entire hot air balloon! He was so excited he couldn't keep it all inside him.

"Good morning, Hajime-kun," greeted the postman, Tsuji-ojīsan.

"Morn'!" Hajime shouted. This was it. This was what he was _made_ for --

"I have mail for you," said Tsuji-ojīsan, reaching into the special mail bag attached to the bright red bicycle frame. "If you want to go ahead, by all means ..."

"I'll wait," said Hajime.

"Sure about that? Lil' tykes need all the head-start they can get."

"I'm the tallest in the grade!" Hajime proclaimed proudly and puffed up.

 _"Really?"_ Tsuji-ojīsan said, raising bushy white eyebrows, putting the letters into their mailbox. He reached out and put a hand in the air above Hajime's head. "I was this tall when I was your age. You still seem pretty midget to me."

Hajime gasped.

Bubbles started rolling around in the back of Hajime's brain.

Hajime squinted and scowled.

"No way!" said Hajime, frowning and crossing his arms. "You're lying, Tsuji-ojīsan."

Tsuji-ojīsan's laughing was so loud that Hajime bet he could hear it if he was at the end of the road too.

With the letters delivered, Tsuji-ojīsan swung onto the bicycle and sat down. His feet went on the pedals. Hajime tensed up. Tsuji-ojīsan gave Hajime a big grin, his foot pushed a pedal down, and --

Hajime ran.

The regular morning circuit was down the street, turning the corner, and then down another street again. His mother worried for his ability to cross the road, and his father would tell her that running and exercise - these were all things that growing young men ought to do, to grow strong. So Hajime was allowed to go out on his morning races if he kept to that route and did not go into the traffic beyond where the post office stood.

Hajime knew Tsuji-ojīsan's route already, even though Tsuji-ojīsan would stop to deliver mail. He hurtled through the streets as fast as he could. The air smacked at his cheeks and tiny speckles got all into his nose.

Tsuji-ojīsan had a lot of mail today. Hajime would make it!

"Careful there, Hajime-kun," said an uncle after Hajime turned a corner a bit too sharply and nearly smashed into a utility pole.

Hajime quickly shouted back a good morning and an apology for spooking him and went back to running.

And then there was just a tiny stretch left. Hajime was so close he could see it.

Suddenly, a red flash was in the corner of his eye, and Hajime clenched his jaw because he was _so close ...!_

Tsuji-ojīsan swept past and waved at Hajime while ringing the bicycle's weirdly nice trill-trill.

"Huff," Hajime huffed. Wheels were so fast. Every time Hajime neared the end, Tsuji-ojīsan would whoosh past at the last moment. But a proud feeling rumbled in Hajime's chest as he headed back. The stopwatch his father got him said he beat his best time by three seconds!

Hajime was so excited that he didn't notice where his feet walked him until a voice called:

"... Hajime-kun?"

When Hajime looked around, he saw he was outside Tōru's place, and the collection of flower buds brushing at his brain were because Tōru's mother was smiling gently towards him. She was at the postbox, collecting the mail.

Hajime obediently stopped and said his greetings, just how Okā-san always told him to do.

"What are you doing here so early?" Tōru's mother asked.

"Running," said Hajime.

"Running?" Her eyebrows went up in surprise, just like Tōru's did, and Hajime realised that Tōru must have copied it off her. "Well, you'll grow to be a very strong boy. You're all sweaty. Did you want to come inside for some water?"

"'s oke."

"No, no, I insist."

Hajime agreed like Okā-san taught him and went inside.

The Oikawa house was very similar to Hajime's. Two stories with a bunch of rooms set out a lot like how Hajime's house was, but missing a cabinet that Hajime used for hide-and-seek. Hajime visited before so he knew the differences, that the guest slippers were a lot squishier since they weren't really worn, and there was always some box or another in the tatami room. Hajime remembered that difference because his mother didn't like anyone leaving things on the floor in their tatami room.

When Hajime peeked into the tatami room, drink in hand, there was a young woman in a school uniform brandishing a rolled paper at an invisible enemy.

"Halt!" she shouted, and her tea-coloured hair swung when she spun around. "Thee, who --"

She spotted Hajime and blinked down at him. Everyone was taller than Hajime, but she was his mother's height, so when Hajime looked up the super light complexion felt weird. Hajime's stomach blossomed a bit, full of flowers and leaves. She also had flowers, the same flowers as Tōru's mother's, except hers were open to catch the rain.

Hajime had a very strong feeling that she wasn't only a relative, she was a very close one.

"Hi," she said, putting down her arm with the rolled paper. "Hmmmmn, spiky hair, you wouldn't happen to be Iwaizumi Hajime, would you?"

Hajime opened his mouth and all he could get out was, "Uaaa?" He was still surprised and trying to push past the plant life.

"No? Then please pardon my --"

"I'm Hajime," Hajime introduced.

The young woman beamed, delighted. "You _are!_ I've heard a lot about you from Tōru. Pardon me," and she crouched down, "I'm Saki, Tōru's sister. Ara~ara, you're taller than I expected. You can call me Saki-nēchan."

There was a thumping through the walls, the vibrations getting closer and closer. Somebody was stomping down the stairs.

"Kā-chan," Tōru's voice shouted from far away, " _I_ was going to get the mail today ...!"

Then Tōru appeared in the doorway of the tatami room, glancing inside on habit as he was passing, and nearly tripped over when his feet tried to walk backwards.

"... Oh," said Tōru in weird voice. "Hey Hajime."

Saki-nēchan got back to her feet.

"A good greeting for your friend, Tōru," she told him, unrolling her paper above them.

Tōru tugged at the hem of his pyjamas and straightened. "Good morning, Hajime, Saki-nē."

Saki-nēchan chortled, said, "Be good, little curseling," and left them alone.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Hajime blurted.

Tōru puffed up and his super neat flower pattern unfolded over all the other plants like a massive cloak. "Yup! And, _and_ , she's got a scholarship to a private high school. Isn't she cool?"

"Yes," said Hajime. "She's really pretty."

"Yeah, but, she's _old_ ," said Tōru.

"Old?"

" _Super_ old. She's going to university real soon." Tōru paused thoughtfully. "Unless, Hajime, you like the older ones?"

"Huhhh?"

Tōru clutched his head. "Ahhhhh noooooooooo, I don't want you falling in love with my sister! That's so gross!"

"W-- what ...?"

"Bad Hajime! Bad! _No!!_ Then you'd be my in-law, I can't take this ..."

Hajime really had no idea what Tōru was freaking out about. But, since the flower pattern didn't change, he decided not to mention it in case he wasn't meant to know.

"What are you boys going on about so energetically over here?" Tōru's mother asked after a sound of footsteps.

Tōru straightened and his cowlick did too.

"Nothing!" said Tōru, brightly.

"Nothing?" Tōru's mother asked, looking at Hajime.

Hajime was opening his mouth when Tōru nudged him. That's when Hajime noticed that there were dusty flour marks on her apron. Without thinking, Hajime stretched his senses and noticed that, under Tōru's super neat flower pattern, some of his mother's flower buds had grown to knock the cloth aside. Those were slowly unfurling into bloom.

 _Oh!_ realised Hajime. _A snack!_

Tōru's super neat flower pattern looked like it dazzled even though the shapes stayed the same, and Hajime thought he saw a set of doors in the brightly coloured tiles.

"Nothing," said Hajime, following Tōru, wondering what was inside them.

"Nothing?" Tōru's mother repeated, and gave a look at Tōru again.

"Nothing," said Tōru, standing straight and tall even though Hajime was taller.

The flowers swished in amusement like they were dancing in the rain.

"Alright," said Tōru's mother. "If you'll come to the kitchen, I've made something for you to eat."

As they dashed to the kitchen and dining, Hajime thought that, while Hajime himself may be taller and faster in a race, Tōru did know how to use a bunch of furniture shortcuts to arrive sooner.

 

 

 

 

One time, Hajime got really sick. Like, ultra sick. He almost threw up his entire snot over Momo after he tried to give her a hug and cat fur got up his nose, which meant Okā-san took her away to go live with someone else for a while. He was so sick that even his father slept downstairs instead of going up to where all the germs were. It'd be bad if he had to take time off work because he got sick too.

_Ultra sick._

He was off school for three days, with no visitors allowed. It was worse because on top of those three days, he had to spend the weekend in _bed_ , head clogged like the static noise Tōru said was space sounds. At least the TV and the cassette player were moved upstairs, which meant he could watch stuff from Tōru's tape collection.

The first thing Hajime ended up telling Tōru when his friend was _finally_ allowed to visit was:

"Mr. Doctor's hair is fake."

Tōru blinked. He looked at the TV. The neatest flower pattern ever unfolded fast. Tōru's eyes settled in realisation.

"Oh," said Tōru. He watched the people on the screen for a while with Hajime, his school bag still in his hands, then nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Totally fake."

"Right?" said Hajime.

Tōru nodded. "Right, right." He scratched at the face mask he was obviously forced to wear and then put the school bag down before rummaging through it. "Here's the homework you missed. Are you dying?"

"Yes," said Hajime.

"Oh," said Tōru. He scratched at the face mask and looked at the screen again. "You better give the tapes back if you die."

"Okay," said Hajime.

Satisfied, Tōru nodded, then pulled up a stool. Hajime noticed fur on the side of his pants after he sat down.

"Is Momo at your place?" asked Hajime.

"Yup," said Tōru. He tilted his head and thought for a while. "She really likes Saki-nē's wardrobe."

Hajime giggled at how flatly his friend said it and felt a little like he wasn't still confined to bed one bit.

"The clothes' feel must be nice then," said Hajime.

" _Hrrmmmmmmmm,_ " said Tōru, in his thinking noise. Hajime knew by now that it meant Tōru was considering something, and that he had to stay absolutely quiet if he didn't want Tōru to forget. If he said anything, _anything_ , Tōru would start saying it was all because of Hajime that he lost his thought, and so Hajime didn't say a word.

Hajime noticed in the silence that the super neat flower pattern was inverted. _Weird_ , Hajime thought, with honeycomb sugar frosting specks and yellow roses curled up like they were sleeping. Hajime'd never felt the super neat flower pattern ever change in his head; he could shuffle the deck and all the cards would still be in the flower pattern order.

Weird.

"Nah," said Tōru.

Hajime blinked. It didn't seem to concern him.

Okay.

"What's the homework?" Hajime asked.

Tōru told him.

The flower pattern flipped right over and went back to normal again.

 

 

 

 

The next week, after Tōru's neighbour's boyfriend made a mistake buying lilies, they held Momo a really sad sort of funeral.

 

 

 

 

Oikawa Tōru plopped into the seat in the desk behind Hajime's halfway through lunch and said:

"Iwaizumi-kun?"

Hajime chewed. He wasn't close to swallowing yet and he wasn't meant to talk with his mouth full. "Mnhh?"

Oikawa Tōru, who came up to Hajime the day after Hajime returned to school after his giant sick week and proclaimed that, starting now, he would be calling Hajime by 'Iwaizumi-kun' and so Hajime should start calling him 'Oikawa' from then onward, blinked and grinned.

Hajime finished chewing so he swallowed. Oikawa's shirt today had a giant eye painted on it.

Oikawa leant closer. "Wanna play a game?"

"Game?" said Hajime.

Hajime liked games. It helped that he was in a growth spurt and a lot of games involved running. Even if Tsuji-ojīsan found out from Okā-san that he was sick and even told Hajime he could cycle a bit slower until Hajime fully recovered! No way. Hajime would beat Tsuji-ojīsan one day.

Oikawa always had the most different games.

"Yeah." Oikawa reached under the lid of his desk. He pulled out a long loop of rainbow string that he once got in trouble for because he fiddled with it during class. "I'm gonna ask you stuff and you just answer."

"Sounds boring." Just like the quizzes they do in class sometimes. Sounded like nothing new.

"Yeah, but, you're eating, so we have to play this one."

That usually meant Oikawa had another game planned. Hajime hurriedly stuffed the end of an onigiri into his mouth. Okā-san said he had to finish eating before running. "Mrmphhmh."

Oikawa understood the _Go ahead_ and cleared his throat.

"So," he proclaimed, in a very resolute and stern voice, as deep as he could sound, "Someone in this class brought curry for lunch. Who is it?"

"You?" said Hajime, confused.

"No!" Oikawa sighed. "Take this _seriously._ It's a detective game. Look around and think and stuff."

"... Right," said Hajime.

He took another bite and slowly chewed as the question tumbled in his brain. Curry, curry. Curry.

Curry?

Hajime thought of how strong the smell would be, tilted his chin up, and sniffed the air.

"Eri-chan," said Hajime.

Oikawa nodded. He was looping the rainbow string around his fingers.

"Yup," he said. "How'd you guess?"

"I didn't guess," said Hajime, since Oikawa'd said not to. "I smelled it. Is that the game?"

"You haven't finished eating," said Oikawa, like he was smart for pointing out the obvious. "I have more puzzles. Hmmmn, something harder ..."

Hajime stuffed more food into his mouth and realised very soon that chipmunk cheeks made it hard to eat quickly.

"Okay," Oikawa said. "Level up. You know Raia-chan and Mitsuaki-chan? They eat together a lot." Hajime nodded. "They're not eating together today."

"I don't get it."

Oikawa grinned. "It's a detective game! How much can you work out about the change?"

For a while, Hajime closed his eyes to mull it all over, then came to a decision. "Boring."

"Aww, but, buuuuut, _Iwaizumi-kuuuunnn ...!_ "

Hajime scrubbed at his chin with the back of his hand.

"Boring," he repeated. "It doesn't matter why they're not sitting together."

Oikawa pouted. "So you're not even a _bit_ curious?"

"Don't need to know some stuff," said Hajime, because, of course. It had nothing to do with him.

"I bet you just don't think you can do it."

Hajime shrugged and finished putting the last of his lunch into his mouth. Oikawa's fingers were still moving, playing a game he called _Cat's cradle_ with the string that Hajime thought looked fiddly and not as fun as running.

He fit his lunchbox into his bag and his senses stretched out. Oikawa's flower pattern was all tiled up in a gigantic, vertical wall which stretched high and wide. Today Hajime could see through the bright colours onto the other side.

On the other side were wavy, ghostly powder-animals, some looking so fragile that touching one would make it disintegrate all around him.

"Nuh," said Hajime. He didn't want to peek.

It was bad breaking things.

"Lame," said Oikawa. One of his fingers accidentally slipped loose and the rainbow spaghetti pulled to the side, falling loosely into his palms. Oikawa didn't look like he noticed the failure, still staring straight at Hajime while rolling the string together so he could start again. "I just wanna have you trying and giving it your best, Iwaizumi-kun."

"Oh."

Oikawa was frowning. On reflex Hajime reached out for answers and bumped into the flower pattern wall.

"Are you sad?" Hajime asked, because the flower pattern didn't tell.

"It took a while to think of this game," Oikawa said.

"Oh."

With a shrug, Oikawa chucked the string on his desk, leaned back, and sighed.

"I'm bored," Oikawa told him.

"Oh," said Hajime, again.

The classroom's door slid open and then shut. Hajime glanced up to see that Raia-chan had come back. He looked back at Oikawa and saw Oikawa's eyes closed. He looked again at Raia-chan, and --

Hajime put a hand over his mouth when a wave of nausea nearly made him throw up all the food he'd been so quick to eating.

Oikawa was out of his seat and next to Hajime immediately.

"Iwaizumi-kun?" said Oikawa, peering into Hajime's eyes. Hajime thought that Oikawa had really big eyes. Hajime also felt the nausea starting to disappear, not enough space for it to exist with Oikawa's giant flower pattern wall in the way. "You thought of something, didn't you?"

Hajime shook his head.

A pair of arms started pulling Hajime upwards, and then Hajime was standing. They'd attracted the attention of the teacher now. Hajime heard very faintly how people were saying that Iwaizumi-kun suddenly looked woozy, and that someone would be taking him to the nurse's office, how responsible of them.

And then he was in the hallway. Whoever was holding onto Hajime's wrist let go.

Hajime realised it was Oikawa. His flower pattern wall was different, so he was hard to recognise, at first. It was like each petal-shaped pane turned sideways like little windows to let some air in.

"Tell me, Iwaizumi-kun," said Oikawa. "You thought of something."

Hajime stared at the floor. It kinda sucked that he was taller than Oikawa. He could see Oikawa's expressions in the side of his vision, fuzzily going from interest to a sort of boredom.

He tried not to think about a set of red, puffy eyes, not to think of teeth pressed tight, not thinking about the torrent of concern overwhelmed by the billion little ants carrying globlets of poison meant to make a person sleep -- sleep, and never wake again.

If Hajime went to sleep, Hajime would never wake again.

"Raia-chan," said Hajime, taking a big breath to blow the last of the ants away, "Raia-chan doesn't want to sleep."

Raia-chan didn't want to sleep, scared that she'd never wake again.

In a small second, Oikawa's boredom vanished, and an unreadable expression took its place. It was a bit like alertness, and Hajime tried to look into the flower pattern to work it out, but his vision would get hazier the more he tried to focus. Oikawa turned around and Hajime couldn't see it any more.

Then, with earnestness in his voice and a smile in waving fingers, Oikawa said mysteriously: "Let's go to the nurse's office, Iwaizumi-kun. Follow me."

 

 

 

 

Hajime would discover later that Raia-chan's grandmother died during slumber.

 

 

 

 

One evening his mother called for him, and there was a slimy sensation in Hajime's gut, like the algae which surfaced and clumped on top of the lake at the park in rainy season summers. Hajime went to where the voice came from and saw his mother and his father sitting down at the table, waiting for his arrival.

Both his parents had serious faces on.

"Please sit, Hajime," his mother said.

Hajime did.

"I heard from Inoue-sensei that you missed the homework assignment this week," his mother said.

"I did it," said Hajime.

"Inoue-sensei said you've been handing it in late." His mother paused. "Not just this week, but for the past few weeks, too."

"Y-- yes," said Hajime, because it was true.

Hajime's mother looked at her husband. She sighed behind a hand, made a small sideways glance, and Hajime's throat thickened while his mouth became dry.

"Hajime," his mother said, in the tone she used only when Hajime was misbehaving the worst, like the time he'd run through a garden and the neighbour came to complain to their family about what dirty and inconsiderate child could crush all their plants and leave shoe marks on their pathway. She'd cancelled their holiday trip to the zoo, which Hajime'd been looking forward to for _ages_ , and reminded of this, Hajime lowered his gaze.

Yet all his mother said was: "Why have you been missing it?"

Hajime hesitated with his answer. His eyes flicked at his father.

His father nodded.

"I was playing with Oikawa," said Hajime.

Those who didn't know Iwaizumi Aika would have thought that she was suspicious, when really, Hajime's mother's eyes were softening when she thought about what words to say. "You must remember your homework on time, Hajime."

Hajime nodded, saying, "Oikawa didn't either."

"Oikawa's family will do what Oikawa's family does, sweet Hajime," his mother said back. "I would like you home early all of next week. Alright?"

Her tone said there would be no arguments. His father watched silently without saying a word. He wasn't saying anything. He was just listening. Hajime rarely got to see him except when he was home for the weekend, because he always had work, and when he didn't, he slept or tidied around the garden. Hajime asked him what work he did once and he said that cars weren't easy to get to their shops, they first needed things done with papers. It was like a grown-up way of making sure that if Hajime agreed to do something then he would do it. If Hajime's father was very good at making sure of things, he would make his mother's cousin happy. Happy people were what gave a person money.

Quietly, Hajime nodded again.

"Good," said his mother. "Now you have a stain under your eye again, _look_ at you, come closer ..."

Hajime stood still and she fussed over his face. She rubbed and rubbed with her handkerchief, the skin pushed and pulled over his cheekbone, and it burned so close to Hajime's mouth that maybe it would fall off one day.

 

 

 

 

"Look," said Oikawa, brightly turning around and showing Hajime a mess of black yarn, "a turtle!"

They were on their way home from school again. Hajime stared downwards. He was wearing his hat, and the brim was big enough that it covered Oikawa's head up to his shoulders, so he could see Oikawa's hands as Oikawa skipped in front of him.

Hajime didn't really think the shape looked like a turtle. It was more like nonsense bug-catching net.

"There's this one, really cool one, called Tōkyō Tower," said Oikawa, continuing like Hajime'd responded. "And, you know, if you hold it sideways, it becomes something _even better."_ He released a breath loudly through his nostrils, still walking backwards. "But it's so _hard_ , I want longer fingers ..."

A road appeared. Oikawa was walking backwards so Hajime raised his head to tell him the road was there. He didn't need to, since by the time he opened his mouth, Oikawa already stopped walking.

"Iwaizumi-kun," said Oikawa.

Hajime's mouth closed. Oikawa's flower pattern was shining a little, tilted to catch the light. Hajime didn't want to say anything.

Oikawa frowned and his brow furrowed like he'd never thought so hard before.

"You're nervous," Oikawa decided.

"I'm not, Oikawa," said Hajime.

"But nervous people shake."

Hajime looked down. His arms were wobbling.

"Not all shaking means nervous," Hajime pointed out.

"Hrrrmmmmmm." Oikawa untangled the string and twirled it absently. "I get it. I have to find you a new game. Okay, you go home first. I'll meet you at the park in half an hour."

"I can't."

Hajime felt the flower pattern shift before he noticed Oikawa had tilted his head.

"Why not?" said Oikawa brightly.

"Because ..."

Hajime went quiet. He noticed something stuck to the panes of the flower pattern, some liquid, watery orb. It was balancing very neatly on the glass-like surface. For some reason Hajime had to keep it there - he didn't want it to move, or disappear, and wanted nothing else right then. He had a very strong feeling that if he said anything, the orb would slide away.

He didn't want that to happen.

"Iwaizumi-kun," said Oikawa. He wasn't smiling any more. The flower pattern under the liquid grew brighter. "You got in trouble with your mother, right?"

The orb reached the edge of the flower pattern and the liquid trickled away with the rest of the spit in Hajime's mouth.

"How did you ..." said Hajime, swallowing because everything was _dry_.

Oikawa shrugged. "Didn't you know? You shift your right foot whenever there's stuff to do with her." His eyes flicked around him, looking around. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd she get mad? Why'd you listen? Why are you so upset?"

"I ..."

Hajime was still a bit sad that the orb had vanished, because it had been like a magnifying glass, zooming into the details of the flower pattern that Hajime hadn't seen before. The front of Hajime's head ached.

He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"I don't need to know why," Hajime pointed out.

A sharp jolt vibrated the air, and the two of them looked down at the black thread in Oikawa's hands. It had snapped, the ends of the yarn fraying, after Oikawa pulled on it too hard with both his hands.

"Oh," said Oikawa, blankly. "But _I_ want to know why, Iwaizumi-kun. Why don't you?"

Why?

Hajime's mother would say, _"I'll tell you why when you're older. You're too young to understand,"_ with the rest of her lectures on manners and politeness and phrases which he had to memorise, because the world was complicated, and Hajime had a lot more growing left to do before he became a man.

Why.

Hajime was old enough to realise that, in what she'd already told him, there existed a link in this world between asking questions and proper behaviour.

So Hajime looked at Oikawa and thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be much better to leave it instead of answering.

_Oikawa's family will do what Oikawa's family does._

Hajime forced himself to smile and say goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Hajime continued to race the Tsuji-ojīsan the next week, and the next, and then it was a month ...

... and after Oikawa grew enough so that he was just as tall as Hajime, and the month after that ...

... even all during the colder months, and then throughout winter, because Tsuji-ojīsan never stopped, even though most of Tsuji-ojīsan's hair was white and his neck and brow were wrinkly and every time he laughed his white dragon puff plumes looked like they came out of a mouth circled by scales ...

... and everyone went up in grades, while Oikawa went and very very slowly inched _taller_ ...

... and Hajime, huffing one summer morning after yet another defeat, wiped sweat from his chin as he found himself wandering to Oikawa's house again.

His visits were plenty, though they weren't often. Hajime'd grown to understand through his own means that it was bad to impose too much. The journey there was spent thinking about the morning race, which he'd still never won once. His mother felt it time he could travel further while alone, so naturally the route grew to match her boundaries, which meant that any advantages that Hajime might have had from growing were gone very quickly.

Oikawa's house appeared, ordinary as ever. From the outside it was impossible to tell anything special. Hajime's family would decorate for holiday occasions and Oikawa's never did, except a single set of three bamboo for New Year's.

Hajime's visits were plenty after his morning races, though they weren't often.

Hajime rang the doorbell.

And there was silence.

The silence was very obvious and very long. It went for so long, that he thought for a moment that there was nobody home; that, for some reason, all three Oikawas had departed before the sun rose, despite never having any pre-dawn camping trips or any history of that sort.

Then Hajime noticed a tiny, muted scratching sound just behind the door.

Behind the peephole, some shadows shifted.

The door opened a crack.

One of Oikawa's eyes peered through the gap and down at Hajime, from high enough that Hajime figured he was standing on a stool of some sort, and as the super neat flower pattern he'd come to associate with his best friend materialised in the form of a very solid, very cold glass wall, Hajime suddenly felt really small and really unwelcome.

Oikawa was squinting and Hajime'd never seen such suspicion directed toward him before.

"It's just you," said Oikawa flatly.

Hajime nodded. He couldn't find words to speak. What air inside the house that managed to sneak through the gap was eerie, and he thought of snakes and rat guts. The door, mostly closed in his face, made him feel so very unwelcome.

"So?" said Oikawa.

Hajime managed a cough, which cleared his throat. "Nuthin'. See you later."

The door flew open as far as the chain lock allowed and the metal twinkled.

There were two eyes in the gap now, Oikawa forcing his head sideways, and the glass in the flower pattern wall thinned.

"Don't tell anyone," said Oikawa. "You don't have any reasons to tell anyone."

Then the door swung shut and Hajime was left with the ordinary movement of people on the streets all around him; neighbourhood chatter from people and vehicles, his usual background noise when hanging out with his friend, _normal_ ...

Standing there, confused and bewildered, Hajime heard silence and felt very alone.

 

 

 

 

"Okā-san," was the first word out of Hajime's mouth when he closed the door, hanging small and lost in the entryway like he had been on the journey back home.

His mother, always attentive, whisked instantly down to his level in a flurry of cloth from apron and skirt. Hajime felt the humidity increase, and his mother placed a hand on his head while the worried little puffs of fog in her air wrapped him in a tight hug. She'd picked up the oddness of his tone, of course, and fussed over him like he was five again. She took his shoes and put them away and ushered him into the house and got him some milk and a jacket appeared over his shoulders.

Hajime found he didn't want to mention that he hadn't been five for years, it was a mild summer day, and he wasn't shivering. He wasn't.

She said something.

"I don't get it," said Hajime.

He realised a bit late that she was asking if he wanted more milk, or maybe tea. The little fog puffs, currently shaped like spiky-headed mascots because his mother was humming a commercial theme tune, did little somersaults mid-dance on either side of him.

"You don't have to," his mother said, absolutely certain despite knowing nothing, "Don't mention it, or think of it, from now on."

Don't think of it. It made sense.

But.

Hajime sipped at the milk and it swirled around in his stomach.

But ...

The warmth from the milk curled around him, and Hajime nodded into his favourite mug. It was blue, like the spring sky, given to him by Oikawa.

"... Yeah."

Don't think of it from now on.

 

 

 

 

There was a cherry blossom tree in the school's courtyard. It was a really cool tree. Hajime liked it in the summer, when its leaves were all full and lush and green, giving shade for the children who thought it fun to climb, painting stars of warm light onto the grass through the gaps in twisting branches.

Hajime and Oikawa were in different classes this year, and the tree had become their meeting spot over some months, so Hajime dashed to it as soon as school was over.

Quickly, his bag was put at its base. He adjusted his hat so it wouldn't flop into his face, and scanned the trunk for a starting foothold. How would he do this today ...

There!

Excited, Hajime started climbing.

It was a few moments later that Oikawa's voice called: "Iwaizumi-kun ~! Where are you, Iwaizumi-kun ..."

Huh? Oh. As Hajime pulled himself onto a branch, he realised he must have climbed into a spot where Oikawa couldn't see him.

As he opened his mouth to shout back, Oikawa turned around because someone else appeared.

"Hey, Mamoru!" Oikawa shouted. "Did Hajime leave class yet?"

Mamoru, Hajime's new seat partner, said, "Yea! He ran out 'gain, Tōru."

"Huuu. Maybe he's gone toilet then. You remembered to talk to Noboru, didn't ya?"

"... Didn't."

"Mamoru, you _gotta_. Noboru's a twat. Didn't you say you were gonna?"

"Yea ... but ... It's rude."

"It's not rude. And you _said_. Someone's gotta stand up! Just go already!"

Hajime could see Mamoru when he peeked his head closer. Mamoru wiggled his feet. Mamoru felt like far away butterflies gathering around a distant flower.

"Tōru," said Mamoru. "Why do you always call Hajime by 'Iwaizumi-kun'?"

Hajime peered closer and managed to see the top of Oikawa's glittery flower pattern wall.

"'Cuz," said Oikawa, in a tone that Hajime realised was the one he used when he didn't want to say. "Why?"

"Ummmm. Nī-chan says it's _keigo._ An' it's something he only just learned, n' he's just started middle school."

"Yeah."

"..." The butterflies flew in tiny little circles, realising they wouldn't get any closer. "... Okay."

Oikawa nodded and the wall gleamed. "Okay. Go find Noboru?"

"... Yea. Bye-bye."

It was hard to see Oikawa clearly from Hajime's side of the tree, so Hajime tried to move around, but one of his feet slipped on the bark. At the same time, there was a breeze, and for all of Hajime's efforts to avoid his hat falling, it decided to fly off his head and float to the ground in a graceful landing.

Hajime very quickly managed to see Oikawa when Oikawa wandered over and then looked up the tree.

"Woah," said Oikawa.

Hajime did his best to make his way down. He accidentally landed onto his bag, but a quick check showed it was still okay. It survived the fall, which wasn't surprising since it was his second bag, a lot more robust and fairly new, the first already having broken a strap after everywhere it's travelled. Hajime's mother learned by now that Hajime's gentleness for fluffy things didn't extend to the belongings he expected could go with him everywhere.

"Hi," said Hajime.

Oikawa nodded. "Yes, high. You climb real fast." He dumped his own bag at the base of the tree. "So that's where you were, Iwaizumi-kun."

Tugging his hat back on, Hajime grabbed his bag and wandered over to his best friend. He sat on a ridge as Oikawa stared upwards, a little like he was trying to figure out how Hajime had climbed. Hajime pulled out his drink bottle and drank from it, sensing that Oikawa was distracted. Hajime's brain had a lot of things fighting for space in it like a net full of buzzing insects.

At the side of the school, under a really cool tree which overlooked the track, the two of them were in silence. Hajime waved away some of the butterflies still clinging around Oikawa and noticed now that Oikawa had his volleyball on his other side. Oikawa liked the sport, and Hajime had taken to volleyball easily. 

So today's afternoon plans were volleyball! Awesome.

"Did you hear what Mamoru was saying?" said Oikawa.

Hajime, who finally learned to recognise the sort of cautions that Oikawa always had sometimes, nodded without hesitation even if he didn't understand them. "Yea."

"And?"

"Huh?"

Oikawa peered into Hajime's face. "And? And what? You're thinking something."

"I'm not."

"..."

"..."

With a small tongue-clicking sound, Oikawa leaned back again.

Hajime understood it as one of Oikawa's weird moods and went back to drinking.

A finger pointed into his nose.

"There it is," Oikawa proclaimed. "You just thought something was weird, didn't you?"

Hajime jumped. _"Hey!"_

"You did!"

"Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" Oikawa grabbed the volleyball, and his mouth was all smug. "I'm not doing anything."

The super neat flower pattern was a flat wall, polished and mosaic and shiny. The butterflies kept floating, and Hajime wondered if they still thought that the wall was real flowers.

"That!" said Hajime. "That thing, where you, errr ..." Actually, Hajime didn't know what 'that' was, either. "That, that face and pointing thing. The ..."

Hajime blinked. The wall was shimmering like air on a hot day. He was remembering something.

"What?" Oikawa asked.

He was thinking of a show. A TV series his mother said he couldn't watch because of its murder mysteries, so of course Oikawa took great pride in being able to show it to Hajime at his place. It had a pointing, smug, crime-solving mini detective --

"The detective thing," said Hajime.

Hajime didn't expect Oikawa's smile to fill with _teeth_ and tooth gaps.

"So I _was_ right," said Oikawa in a very victorious manner. "You _did_ think it was weird."

Surrounded by butterfly wings batting at his face, Hajime felt a bit of irritation at his best friend for the very first time. How could the butterflies not realise the flowers weren't real? Could they not _see?_

And so, Hajime's resulting annoyance originated from the thought that Oikawa was definitely not understanding the concept of modesty.

"Dumbass," said Hajime.

Oikawa gasped. "You swore!"

"Sh-- shh!"

"No! Ha ha! _Ha ha ha!"_ Oikawa stood up and took a deep breath. His shoulders tilted back and his lungs expanded like he was about to shout across the school. "Iwaizumi-kun --"

Hajime did the only thing he could.

"Sh-- shut up!"

He tackled.

_"Yowch!"_

With a giant _boof_ , Oikawa and Hajime landed on the ground. They managed to avoid their bags but accidentally fell onto the volleyball. Oikawa shoved his hip into Hajime's side to try and stop the volleyball from poking into him. That caused Hajime to tumble onto it instead, and it impacted his stomach before rolling down to his knees. Hajime kicked out and the volleyball spun towards the trunk of the tree.

They scuffled. Oikawa's bag tumbled into the dirt. Hajime's bag was safe somehow but Hajime wasn't. Oikawa was playing dirty, kicking and stepping on Hajime's clothes to make up for his smaller size.

It shouldn't have been surprising that they got in trouble.

 

 

 

 

"I'm sorry for punching you in the face," Hajime read.

"You punched me in the nose," Oikawa pointed out.

Meaningfully, Oikawa Saki cleared her throat behind her little brother.

Hajime's gaze quickly dropped back to the paper he was holding, though he wasn't the one chastised, and he noticed Oikawa giving his sister a glance before doing the same.

Behind Hajime, his mother's aura was crackling thunderstorms and showering rainy days where sports couldn't be played. Hajime remembered how mad his mother had gotten when he hadn't been doing the homework. She hadn't been happy when she found out he'd gotten dirty today. She said it was disrespectful to his clothing; to those who made it, and his father, who worked hard to pay for it. He ought to have considered everyone's feelings. 

Hajime took a deep breath, willing himself not to waver. Hajime tried not to fidget and rip the paper in his hands. His stomach was starting to ache and he couldn't tell if it was his imagination. It had been Saki who said that they were both guilty, her idea that they write apology letters to one another, and Hajime's mother agreed so long as they read them to each other.

The hand on Hajime's shoulder squeezed him. He squashed down the small fears that he wouldn't be allowed to play with Oikawa ever again.

Be noble, how a man should be.

While Hajime bowed and finished reading his page, he thought that his guilty churning would have been a lot fiercer if he couldn't feel Oikawa smirking above his head.

Then it was Oikawa's turn.

"... I didn't mean to get dirt in your shorts," Oikawa said. "It pains me to think how uncomfortable your underpants are going to be on your way home. Also, I regret not mentioning that your bag was put in a bad location, because then you would have moved it and maybe kicked _it_ instead of mine --"

"Tōru," Saki said.

"I'm joking, nē-chan. Look, I didn't write it. Hajime, I'm deeply sorry for everything. I hope that you may overlook this insult to your manly pride and that our friendship can remain complete. Thank you."

Saki nodded. Hajime watched as her eyes looked behind and above him. Her flowers moved a little, so Hajime had a feeling she was seeking similar satisfaction from his mother. Hajime recognised her flowers as strawberry flowers now, matching her strawberry blonde hair.

The grip on Hajime's shoulder tightened.

"I would like to apologise again," his mother said, and Hajime felt her bow. "Hajime doesn't understand, yet. We will both make certain that this is something which does not occur again."

Hajime didn't think there was anything to understand, ignoring the small Oikawa-sounding voice that was suggesting that maybe they could get better at covering up their scuffling. What he did understand his mother's hand was trying to get across was that he, too, should bow again, and so he did, giving apologies to the floor.

A moment later, Oikawa also bowed and muttered the same.

Then, Oikawa yelped, yelled something about Hajime forgetting something, before grabbing Hajime by the arm and pulled him running into another room.

The door shut with a muted tap.

Oikawa turned to Hajime and raised a hand.

"High-five?" Hajime asked.

"High-five," Oikawa confirmed.

"Why?"

"Because."

There was a stupid grin on Oikawa's face. Hajime stared at it, rubbing his eyes.

"Oikawa," said Hajime.

His mother would be coming to look for him at any moment, wanting to know what it was that he'd forgotten, when Hajime hadn't forgotten anything. Oikawa's flower pattern was reflecting some bright bright light. The world looked all grey, like the sky was full of clouds, and his heart was starting to ache and grow heavy. He kept his eyes lowered, feeling too heavy to look up. 

Hajime sighed and shook his head.

"Let's just play volleyball next time."

 

 

 

 

A year passed.

"Hajime," said his mother, as he proceeded to do up his shoelaces. He would always untie them and re-tie them, unlike some of the others in his class who preferred to pull them on and off like they were slippers of a sort. Oikawa had a double knot in his shoes and Hajime couldn't understand why. He was thinking of Oikawa remarking that it took too long as he tightened the loops in the last knot.

Hajime looked up.

His mother was standing by the door to the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

"Volleyball."

"... I see."

A sigh blew between them, gently; Hajime understood the rippling of the field and the garden which he'd always associated with her. It had been growing vegetables until the summer stretched long and dry, when she'd briefly gone to hospital for her blood. Hajime admired the green grassy shoots trying their hardest to return to life.

His mother was wiping her hands on her apron, which meant she had something to say.

Hajime stood up and waited.

"How did you get so interested in volleyball?" she asked.

"Oikawa showed me," said Hajime.

His mother's hands stopped. For a brief instant, he recalled the disapproval from years ago -- the sense that playing with Oikawa was _bad,_ and Hajime was not supposed to be _bad._

His mother did a lot of work helping the police stop bad people. 

Hajime should not be one of them.

... Yet all his mother did was smile.

"Have fun, Hajime." She must have seen the confusion on his face, as all mothers did, because she added, "You look far more lively than you used to."

 

 

 

 

Volleyball with Oikawa became as routine as Hajime's morning run; so regular, that Hajime thought Tsuji-ojīsan was deliberately turning back to tease him for losing every morning, until he came to learn that Tsuji-ojīsan's route had been changing with every year that Hajime grew ever taller and ever faster.

"Every time I thought I was _close --"_ Hajime spluttered, the next day.

Tsuji-ojīsan grinned, his wrinkles like sunbeams, eyes closing shut like the glare was too strong for himself, too.

"I'm not the sort to break a child's dreams, shorty," he said, and the webbing below his chin chuckled as he did.

Hajime protested: "But you _always_ win _every day!"_

The postman laughed and laughed when he and his red bicycle were leaving.

But it was one day, when _it_ happened. Hajime stopped over at Oikawa's place, having decided that helping Oikawa perfect the super cool move he'd shown Hajime from TV about a week ago would be the best birthday present, barely giving the nameplate beside the gate a glance. Enough time had passed that Hajime, raised to discard the yearning for others' secrets, had long forgot the weirdness which Oikawa had displayed on that one morning when Hajime had not been welcome. 

He let himself inside the Oikawa grounds. 

Oikawa's mother was out front, tending to the grass. She wasn't facing Hajime, and didn't notice his entrance, so Hajime carefully closed the gate, checked it was locked, and walked up. Hajime's birthday cheer reached his chest as he made his approach, and --

Hajime's sideways vision filled with blight, patches where colours weren't the colours they were meant to be, in filthy, gut-churning patterns of thrown-up splatter. Hajime saw in his normal senses that her eyes were glazed and she had a set of shears in her hands. Next to her was a tiny pile of weeds buried under white cotton clumps just like her white cotton dress; her pruning had started normally, but her cutting was moving closer to herself, and --

Hajime tried to open his mouth but there were seeds inside his lungs. They wanted to take root, grow into thick bushes all the way up his throat, and spill huge vines past his lips so he wouldn't be able to scream. The nameplate beside the gate caught the light, shimmering like a collection of little crystals -- Hajime thought that something ... somewhere ...

It was almost as if ...

Hajime felt ...

He wouldn't remember hitting the ground, nor her shouting when he startled her.

 

 

 

 

He opened his eyes to gold and some thin fragrance trying to make sterile air friendly.

It had been a sleep in weird surroundings, the mattress different beneath his shoulder blades, and the ceiling shone with a warm, orange glow. While the bed was a stranger, the room quickly grew into focus, and he recognised it as the inside of the hospital which his mother had been taken before. He sat up, and the sheets which smelled like detergent tugged at his waist like they requested him to lie down again, that they missed him. Being a bed in a hospital was lonely and transient with few loves, it's occupants desiring nothing more than to vanish at the soonest opportunity, and Hajime stopped moving to make the sadness quiet down.

A brown smudge was by his feet, a blue smear, and a weight which made the bed dip. It was Oikawa's head, lying there, wearing a blue shirt that Hajime knew had an alien on it, because Hajime'd been the one to find it and ask his grandmother if she could buy it for him. It was only fitting his super smart space friend had an alien companion.

Hajime's feet must have moved because Oikawa stirred and started waking.

"Hey," said Hajime. He felt the super neat flower pattern of Oikawa'a consciousness starting to draw itself, tiny crystals fusing together as Oikawa reached alertness. The mosaic of tiled glass parts flashed as it completed.

Oikawa blinked at Hajime, with large eyes.

"Hey," was the reply.

Hajime remembered drooping flowers and black, filthy, rotting pungent stinky acidic throat-itching algae slime.

"Sorry," said Hajime.

Oikawa stared without understanding, then he frowned when he realised what Hajime was referring to.

"Yeah, you are," he said, confirming with those few words that it was all Hajime's fault that Hajime had found out his mother's flowers were really infected inside, and Hajime agreed with him, really. It was all Hajime's fault. Oikawa continued, "You know she's sick then."

"Yeah."

It was all Hajime's fault. Oikawa wasn't quizzing him on his mother like he quizzed him on Raia-chan's disease. Even if Oikawa's mother's melancholy was less like fear and more like despair and resignation. He didn't need to know.

"No, you didn't," Oikawa agreed, reading Hajime as easily as he could breathe.

"Yeah."

Oikawa pushed himself off the bed and stretched his arms upwards and backwards, letting the alien say hi. Then he looked around. That was when Hajime realised the room was empty.

Oikawa found what he was looking for because he leaned sideways and grabbed something off the floor.

"I thought it would be you who finds out first," said Oikawa. "No one else would be able to find out, except for you."

Hajime blinked. He was expecting Oikawa to be upset, or say something like, _"That's bad. You shouldn't have."_

Oikawa moved his head, peering closer, and stated, "You have a mirror in the back of your head." He nodded to himself, clearly satisfied by this explanation which explained nothing. "You're really good at picking up what people ought to be feeling. Either way, you can't tell anyone."

"I won't," said Hajime. He thought of something. "What about your father?"

"He's dead."

"Oh," said Hajime.

With a shrug, Oikawa fiddled with whatever it was he'd found again. "'s 'kay. Happened the same day I was born, so, I never got to know him."

Hajime opened his mouth, remembering that he wanted to tell Oikawa what his birthday present this year would be. Then the inappropriateness chose its moment to implode in a swirl of _no,_ and _don't say that,_ and _what is right to say?_

But Hajime's mother never taught him what was right in this situation, so Hajime said nothing.

The thing in Oikawa's hands moved enough for Hajime to see it was red yarn crocheted into a flower. He was tugging at one end of it, trying to take the shape apart.

"Where'd you get that?" Hajime said instead.

"This?" asked Oikawa, holding up the flower.

"Yeah."

"Kikuoka-san gave it to me."

"Kikuoka-san?"

"She's in that bed." Oikawa indicated the bed next to Hajime. "A bunch of doctors took her out for checks and stuff right before you got up. They'll be back soon 'cause they wanted to check on that plastic thingy again."

"Plastic thingy?"

Oikawa pointed and Hajime finally noticed the plastic block grabbing onto the end of one of his fingers.

"Oh," said Hajime.

"Yup."

With that, Oikawa went back to the flower made of red yarn.

"Kā-chan," said Oikawa, suddenly and out of nowhere, continuing a conversation that was in his head, "she works with JW, to spread peace. Tō-san's death hurt her bad." He paused, his fingers stilling over the yarn, continuing as soon as Hajime remembered _JW_ \-- they were what his mother called the door-knockers who said things about Jesus and God. "Saki-nē works a lot. Before university too. She found a boyfriend who's the heir to a production company though, so that's pretty good, mm?"

Hajime nodded. "My Otō-san works at a car company for Okā-san's cousin."

"Mmm. I know. Housewife and salaryman family."

Hajime nodded again, then in the silence, listened to the sounds of the hospital - a breathing of footsteps and movement and the sounds of distant talking. Oikawa's super neat flower pattern was the same as always, even after he succeeded in unravelling the flower and let out a sound like a whistle. He knotted both ends of the red yarn so it became a loop and started twisting it around his fingers for cat's cradle. It brought back memories.

It also reminded him of something else.

Judging by how Oikawa's flower pattern flashed, he thought of the same thing as Hajime did in that moment, too.

"So," said Hajime.

"So," said Oikawa.

Oikawa was a mind reader but it wasn't like he was mind reading. It was just a topic which the both of them were thinking about recently and hadn't gotten the chance to each other about.

"Yeah," said Hajime. "We're gonna be in middle school soon."

"We're gonna be _old!"_ Oikawa cried.

Hajime kicked him.

"Where are you going?" Hajime asked.

"Kitagawa-daiichi."

"Same."

"Cool."

"Cool."

Hajime examined the flower pattern's unchanging shades and Oikawa used his mind-reading power and that was all they needed to say about that. Hajime watched Oikawa as he twirled the red yarn. It hadn't looked special, all those years ago, but now -- now, Hajime, who played volleyball as the ace to Oikawa's setter, Hajime could see all the deft little finger movements that Oikawa hadn't been able to shape before.

 _"I want longer fingers,"_ Oikawa'd said, and so Hajime thought: Oikawa's fingers were thin and long now, and that made them look even longer.

"Turtle," said Hajime, when Oikawa stopped on a shape.

Oikawa paused, looked at Hajime consideringly, then raised his brows before making a new shape and showing it to him.

Hajime searched his memory and found it. "Butterfly?"

"Wow," Oikawa remarked. "I thought you didn't care."

"It's a girl's game," said Hajime.

Oikawa pitched his voice falsetto, "Oh, _Hajime!_ Very strong, very muscles! _So manly!"_

Hajime kicked him again.

(He tried not to dwell on how he'd gotten used to how Oikawa was the only one to ever use his last name, like it was some secret code. They were nearing middle school, which meant more and more kids were picking up honorifics and keigo, so Oikawa wasn't as special any more.)

"Were you able to make it?" Hajime asked.

"Make what?"

"What you wanted longer fingers for."

_"Jacob's ladder."_

Hajime didn't like the deliberately avoided answer, so he kicked Oikawa one more time. Instead of taking it without reacting, Oikawa went and sat on Hajime's ankles.

It probably broke a lot of rules of hospital etiquette, but Oikawa's flower pattern was always better when he was doing whatever he wanted, so Hajime let him stay there. Plus, no one was around, so whatever.

"Is there something special 'bout this ladder?" said Hajime, trying to find what made his best friend so weird.

Oikawa shrugged. He put the loop aside. "In stories, it's the connection between Earth and Heaven."

"Huh," said Hajime blankly. "Make it?"

"Not yet, I can't," said Oikawa. "But someday I will."

"Okay," said Hajime, seeing no reason to doubt.

"Okay," said Oikawa, because that's how they were. He nodded, satisfied. "I want you to help me."

"Sure," said Hajime.

"Promise?"

"Yah."

"Huuuuuu."

Oikawa gave Hajime a very, very, very long side-eye glance. He stayed like that for long enough that something bubbled in the back of Hajime's throat.

Hajime lost his patience.

"What?" Hajime asked.

"Why?" said Oikawa.

"Tell me _what_ , Oikawa --"

" _Why?_ " Oikawa repeated, slowly this time. "Why are you agreeing so easily when you don't know what you're agreeing to? That's stupid."

Now it was Hajime's turn to stare. "'cuz you're my friend."

"Friend?"

"Duh."

"Duh," said Oikawa, dumbly.

Hajime frowned.

"Stupid," he said.

"Huhh ...?"

"Stupid. Dumbass."

"W-- what? Hey, what are you --"

"Idiot. Moron. Stupidkawa --"

"You _already_ said 'stupid'!" Oikawa shouted, then he shook his head. "Don't do that to my name!"

"Pansy hair."

"... Go back to 'stupid'."

"Fine, Stupidkawa."

Oikawa dramatically lay down and sobbed into the sheets beneath him. This went on for less than a minute, Hajime offering no sympathies because the flower pattern hadn't changed so Oikawa was definitely pretending, until Oikawa stopped upon remembering something.

Dramatically, he jabbed a finger in Hajime's direction.

"You called me your friend," he accused.

"Yea."

"No way! That's insulting. Aren't I your _best_ friend, Iwaizumi-kun? _Iwaizumi-kuuuuunnnnnnn ...!"_

"Nah."

Hajime watched as his best friend went back to complaining. He saw Oikawa briefly peeking up mid-tantrum after a nearby noise, to check if anyone was about to enter the room, and pretended not to notice the temporary pause once Oikawa went back to muttering something about Hajime never getting a girlfriend, no girls ever liking him, something something.

Like this, the odd friendship he had with Oikawa was nice. Being able to talk without needing to think about it, how Oikawa could pick everything up, and the strangely calming effect that Oikawa had on every one of Hajime's senses ...

Surely Oikawa liked it too. 

Hajime knew this because the flower pattern was spinning.

 

 

 

 

"Tsuji-jī!" Hajime greeted, waiting outside the front gate. The flash of red at the end of the road could not have been more obvious, like a beacon wandering into the horizon.

Tsuji-ojīsan smiled and nodded. "G'morning, Hajime-kun."

He was pushing the bicycle today. Hajime thought nothing about it.

One, two. Hajime jogged in place, feeling in a small part of his mind that his track suit wasn't entirely blocking all the air from outside, and he ignored it as easily as his skin. Today the sky was clear and the sun had risen early. Hajime's homework was complete, tucked in his schoolbag, and he'd be picking that up after returning home.

Tsuji-ojīsan came to a stop, and opened his bag for the mail.

 _Today_ , thought Hajime, _would be a good day to check on Oikawa again._ Oikawa could say, "Are you my alarm clock now?" as much as he wanted, and it wouldn't make a difference since the both of them knew Hajime just wanted to check on Oikawa's mother's mind flowers, to try and avoid a repeat of her collapsing again.

But first, Hajime had to claim his first victory against the postman that was always, always faster than him.

It was because that Hajime was thinking ahead about Oikawa's mother that he opened the senses used by his sideways vision. If Hajime's mother was a garden, and Hajime's father the tallest of tall palm trees, then Tsuji-ojīsan was a cactus. Prickly, covered in white fuzz, and having a sense of humour worse than Oikawa's when Oikawa was lazy. Today he noticed a small pinprick, a tiny black spot in the edge of his senses. He peered closer at the anomaly -- and he jumped when it suddenly burst open like a water balloon.

Except, it wasn't water. It was sap and syrup, oozing from a cactus bud which should have been raised proud and tall, but cut open and headless, rolling across the floor. The white fuzz, normally thick and impenetrable, was little more than the occasional clump. The morning air caught in Hajime's mouth before it could suffocate him.

In the moment when faint, guilty remorse tugged at the corners of Tsujī-ojisan's eyes, Hajime had already moved before the postman dropped the mail.

The mail make a _thunk._

Tsuji-ojīsan looked at the hand on his shoulder, tilted his head down to meet Hajime's gaze, and Hajime stared back with all his resolution.

"You're sick," said Hajime, in the tone of someone who didn't need any more explanation. He could clearly see there were spots on Tsuji-ojīsan's wrinkly neck now. They could have been huge pores or dark splotches. Hajime couldn't tell.

"Heard already, did you?" Tsuji-ojīsan remarked, with a sadness that didn't suit his usual snark or good humour.

"No," Hajime told him truthfully. "I guessed."

"If that's a guess, you might find yourself being the next Sherlock." Tsuji-ojīsan chuckled.

Hajime didn't miss the glance sent towards his hand. He thought, _let go_ , because of course he'd over-strayed his boundaries, but found the feeling of bone pressing into his palm after he ended up clenching his fingers closer. Something in Hajime's chest tipped over and fell, its contents spilling like marbles against a surface smooth and flawless, yet entirely silent, without a single sound. Suddenly, it was like he wasn't looking out of his eyes but he was _behind_ them; he was _inside_ his body, some sort of room with no light or sound or scent or colour. The space tasted like nothingness and Hajime _reached --_

His eyes (real eyes, _real eyes_ ) jolted into focus the moment he felt doors being left open behind him. Information _exploded_ in his senses, bright and loud and stifling and _real._ The names of the nameless; the music of the mute; the heartbeat of those once dead and forgotten -- clearer than crystal clear, resonant in their memory.

And Hajime -- Hajime realised the marbles were actually his tears, and tried to breathe only to hiccup instead, and it was like he was five again and coming home to learn that the cat he expected to greet was a cat found dead some hours earlier.

The doors swung, far from his grasp, rising ever further.

His mother's words echoed in his head. _Be brave. Grow strong. Don't cry._

 _Oikawa,_ thought Hajime, his mind scrabbling to construct that familiar flower pattern, searching for something to be where Oikawa himself was not. _Oikawa wouldn't cry._

"You have a mirror in the back of your head," Oikawa'd said.

 _I found it,_ thought Hajime. _I found the mirror._

As if that realisation was the key to return him to the real world, Hajime's mind snapped back to Earth, where Tsuji-ojīsan had placed a hand on Hajime's head.

"-- retiring. Today is my last day. You're always welcome to visit. My grandchildren - one of them is just like you."

Tsuji-ojīsan had been talking the whole time. Hajime's face was cold because it was wet and Hajime couldn't see anything but a faint blur.

"Today?" he whispered. Retiring? How could ... he never considered it. Tsuji-ojīsan, retiring.

There was a single nod.

Whatever else was said, Hajime wasn't sure. Hajime remembered bowing and thanking Tsuji-ojīsan, wishing him regards which he was taught to say but hurt to feel. Hajime remembered watching the red bicycle go, away and away, because he couldn't find the energy to put into his legs or to race or anything else. It always seemed for granted that Hajime, who spent the last six years building strength, would continue to race this postman who humoured his competitive spirit.

Hajime thought he would keep doing it until the one day he grew strong enough to win for real.

He pressed a hand to his cheek. It was cool, licked by the wind. He stood, submerged by water. To his left was his home.

Maybe he closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

The next thing Hajime saw were the school gates and that distinctive, awkwardly lanky silhouette belonging to Oikawa Tōru.

Oikawa noticed.

"Tell me," he ordered, folding his arms and staring Hajime nose-to-nose.

Hajime opened his mouth. It closed on its own.

"Tell me," Oikawa said again.

"Nothing," Hajime told him.

Oikawa scoffed.

"You're clearly sad, Iwaizumi-kun. Keep doing it, then, and ignore how I have to watch you like this."

A small, shrivelling sensation crept inside Hajime's chest.

"Shut up."

"I thought I was your friend."

One of Hajime's hands rose. It wobbled for a moment, making an odd series of movements which Oikawa watched with intensity rivaling a hawk's.

When Oikawa's gaze met Hajime's again, something burned. Hope. Oikawa would understand. Oikawa always knew ...

"That's not enough."

... Oikawa always knew ...

(What Hajime felt couldn't have been disappointment.)

"Don't pretend your mind-reading failed, Shittykawa."

Oikawa gave him a _look_.

"Who's pretending here, Hajime?"

The use of his name was so startling that it was like he'd been underwater for his entire life. It was like being _released,_ exactly like standing in the path of a tidal wave, submerged by powerful, rolling, digestive forces, then being spat out the other end with adrenaline in his lungs as he gulped air down again. 

In that moment, everything became clear.

Before him was Oikawa yet before him was also a fantastic stream of water, all at the same time. Wherever the waterfall began, Hajime couldn't tell. But inside the waterfall, it wasn't a waterfall at all; it was a stream of rainbow crystals reflecting the light, shaped a little like the petals of a flower, and sparkling in such a way as they moved upwards that they looked like liquid moving down.

Drawn in by this defiance of gravity, Hajime reached out without thinking --

Oikawa's hand grabbed him by the wrist and the other vision disappeared.

The stare which Oikawa gave Hajime had more resemblance to the look he gave to things which weren't Hajime. TV, neighbours, girls, his newest fascinations ... anything where he felt like picking something apart in his head because he said it was weird or something.

"Oi ... kawa ...?" Hajime began.

Oikawa squinted, nodded to himself, and dropped the arm. "You found the mirror."

"I did," Hajime told him.

Of course, Oikawa knew.

"So?" asked Oikawa, because Hajime still hadn't told him that Tsuji-ojīsan was gone.

Hajime hesitated. It was stupid. It wasn't like Tsuji-ojīsan was dead. If he were dead, then of course Oikawa would know what's wrong, because nothing like that would ever escape the shared knowledge of the community. Oikawa's mind-reading wasn't the same as this sideways vision, this whispering of images and emotions and ideas which materialised so well it was like they were deliberately transmitted. Hajime knew well by now that nobody else understood him if he started describing it. Only Hajime had the senses which Oikawa called a mirror.

Only Hajime spent that time looking forward to his races with Tsuji-ojīsan.

Oikawa's little fragments were starting to catch the light, as he grew ever curious at the extended silence, petals flipping in faint boredom or frustration. But telling him, that wouldn't change anything.

There were some things in this world that a person didn't need to know.

With this in mind, Hajime realised he had to become strong.

He had to deal with it on his own.

"Hey," Hajime started saying. It was a good start. It perked Oikawa's interest, and the little motion which his childhood friend made caused Hajime to think of Momo when she noticed him grabbing the cat food. Maybe he was just a cat. Hajime knew Oikawa's moods. Easy. "What would you ... what do you call a race that doesn't end?"

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. "A race that doesn't end? A never-ending race?"

"A race where someone is faster."

"Well," and Oikawa thought for a moment, eyes flickering as he pondered, "that's a 'chase', then, isn't it? Like good guys, and bad guys, from TV, like that one where --"

"A chase." Hajime mouthed the word.

It ... fit, somehow. Hajime couldn't place it. Yet, long enough had passed since the revelation for him to realise that he never really had a hope of winning, no matter how hard he tried. 

Now he was old enough to understand that loss was a truth in the world greater than simply him.

"Yeah," Hajime said. "You're right."

Oikawa _hmphed_.

"Don't make it sound like I'm never right, you know."

 

 


	16. Time Differential (八方美人) II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Differential (Friends to all sides*) -- Part B  
>  _* lit. eight sided beautiful person (idiom, used in another saying 'a friend to everyone is a friend to no one')_

 

 

Memories of middle school were defined by several things. Of them, the first was their routine.

Joining the volleyball club had been an easy decision. After school, they would stay behind for practice, or they'd meet up at Oikawa's place before training or studying once Hajime made a trip home to change his clothes. His mother would insist on him bringing some food over. Oikawa enjoyed some of the snacks a little too much, if his glittering and meaningful complements to Hajime's mother were any indication. So in a sense, outside of school, many things were the same.

It was inside school that a rapidly-growing Oikawa started acting ... different.

"Iwa-chan," said Oikawa, one day of many days, when he exited the classroom and Iwaizumi followed. "I'm flattered, but, surely you're not so bored that you must always be here?"

Hajime didn't follow Oikawa all the time. Hajime knew that Oikawa would have noticed the pattern of when he decided to, so that wasn't a genuine question; he was deliberately ignoring the fact that Hajime followed him _most_ times because he wanted Hajime to tell him why he was doing so.

So Hajime told him.

"You get into a lot of trouble when you're acting that way."

Oikawa gasped. The flower pattern shimmered just as a part of his hair fell in front of his eyes. His fringe was thick and long, almost reaching his eyes -- a bit like that scene style, good-looking to others, whilst impossibly impractical at the same time. The line of hairpins under one of his sleeves explained how he played sports without going blind. "Never in ways an oaf like you would imagine."

He tossed his head back to get the hair out of his face, spun around, and strode down the corridor with bizarre confidence. He'd also grown rapidly over the past year, so much that it meant the indoor shoes he was wearing were rounded in shape, scuffled, slightly off-blue for their year group's colour; they're second-hand when uniforms were rapidly becoming more and more costly. Not for the first time, Hajime was a little overwhelmed by the change.

(Hajime would feel his mother's attention lapsing, sometimes, whenever she read the articles about more and more car companies moving their manufacturing overseas. She'd click her tongue and her garden's weeds would thrive. The newspaper would slip a little, bow over the edge of the table, or maybe her tea would dribble scalding hot onto the paper and stain the pages.)

Still.

Oikawa was different now. He started wearing a certain style. So what? That barely-hidden smirk, that odd ignorance he kept in the air about him. They were still Oikawa. Hajime dismissed all the things he noticed and never needed to talk about.

They were nothing new.

Oikawa's destination was an unused classroom which overlooked the quiet side of the school, where the sheds housing equipment were located. The classroom was small, with a low roof, and would have fit an entire class inside if everyone was standing. There were only a few desks left there, clustered near each other and by the window, their chairs askew like the others had been taken one at a time.

Oikawa jostled himself past some desks, sat down on the ledge, and positioned himself in a manner so that he appeared to be daydreaming.

Hajime didn't go as close as the ledge. He picked one of the chairs which didn't need to be pulled out, and sat down. Looking out at the tree, up at thick leaves, he wondered who would be meeting by its roots today. The corner of the school with the unused classroom was the one corner which was used as a place to ask people out, a place for loiterers to idle, and a place where people went to share secrets. There was something about the location that encouraged talking, Hajime presumed, and it made a good choice. On the other side of the tree was the third storage shed, which meant that anyone under it was out of sight in every direction.

Except.

Oikawa had his head arched and his ear pressed in a way to exactly listen to what was outside.

Except that, and people forgot -- sound travelled _up._

Doing this eavesdropping thing was something that needed complete silence and complete lack of movement. This didn't apply just to Oikawa, but to Hajime too. Sometimes people noticed that the abandoned classroom was not so abandoned when they saw Hajime walking around behind the windows. And the truth was that Hajime did not need to be there.

But it was a bit interesting, watching Oikawa eating his lunch, looking relaxed for anyone who did not know him. They would have thought the stillness in Oikawa's fingers to be usual; that Oikawa was the type of person who used minimal movements, rather than someone who did things with his hands. Very few people would have realised a relaxed Oikawa wasn't quiet, he was one which spoke his thoughts as he used Hajime as a bouncing board. When Oikawa was relaxed, his shards would be a bunch of fragments all pointing inwards a little like the dahlias that Hajime's mother had bought for their sitting room, in the same pattern as when he asked if Hajime would be free to try spiking his tosses. Though, since Oikawa never asked Hajime for spikes, Hajime supposed that the only reason nobody else could tell was because Hajime was the only one with the mirror. Things just _were_.

Oikawa understood Hajime and Hajime understood him.

So Hajime sat there, eating without a word, while Oikawa's lunch was finished and he pretended to sleep. The waterfall in Hajime's head stopped, frozen in time.

Oikawa stirred, an instant before the bell rang, and they returned to their classroom.

"Who was it today?" Hajime asked on the way.

"What do you mean 'who', Iwa-chan? You mean 'what', don't you?"

"No." Hajime stepped around someone walking in the opposite direction. He knew what he saw from the waterfall. "It was someone interesting today."

Oikawa _hrmmmmed_ , in that obvious, obnoxious tone he used when he wanted people to know he was analysing them, to make them uncomfortable, but it wasn't something that deterred Hajime from receiving an answer.

"It was a break-up," said Oikawa. "Yūka-san and her boyfriend. He was advising her, or something. She was crying a lot. How awful."

"For him?"

"Of course!" Oikawa whirled around, confident enough in the last few metres to enter their classroom backwards. "Shouldn't she ought to listen quietly, if she likes him, or if he cares enough to give her his opinion? What's the point of crying?"

Hajime entered the room and thought about how to respond to that. He once cried so much they called him 'Hajime the crybaby', back when he never knew what his sideways vision was. All the adults around him could only say he had a large heart or he was simply very emotional.

In the face of Oikawa's insensitivity, Hajime wondered how he could ever have been envious of this never-crying ass, and said, "You're an idiot." After Oikawa was forced to turn around so he could apologise for stepping on someone's foot, Hajime wouldn't deny being petty or satisfied.

Oikawa deserved that.

"It's rude to insult people, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said mulishly.

"She was upset."

"Yeah."

"So she had her reasons," Hajime pushed.

"Of course she did." Oikawa held his hands out in front of him. "But if I was giving you bread, and it turns out I stole it with the reason being I wanted to give it to you, you wouldn't accept that either, would you?"

"No," said Hajime. "Not with that order."

"Is it wrong?"

"Emotion." Hajime punched one of Oikawa's shoulders. "And reason," he added, punching the other. "Don't do it backwards. You can't _see_ people's feelings from the 'why's. You gotta _feel_ them."

As Oikawa took his seat, his expression didn't change. In fact, nothing changed, even though Hajime expected something. It wasn't until he cautiously spread his senses wide that he noticed it, a sudden nothingness in the fabric of the universe, all the feelings of his classmates dwarfed by this _thing_. Hajime remembered being told about space, and black holes, so this must have been one of them, supermassive in the middle of a galaxy. It was shifting, drawing everything towards it. Hajime realised his breathing had matched its rhythm, almost like it was absorbing his heartbeat. He couldn't look away.

Oikawa turned around and put his feet in their grimy, second-hand shoes onto Hajime's chair.

"Born an oaf, always an oaf," Oikawa complained.

\-- A brilliant array of flower panels stood tall where the black hole had been, in the shape of a gate, the mouth of a waterfall.

Startled, knowing he'd seen something he wasn't meant to see, Hajime's vision snapped in."Sit -- sit normally, Trollkawa."

"Sometimes I wonder if the only thing you know is insulting me."

"Look who's talking."

Hajime's pointed stare at Oikawa's ridiculous fringe didn't go unnoticed. A flick of the head, and Oikawa's hair went out of his face again.

"Iwa-chan," said Oikawa, "You'll never have a girlfriend this way."

Senses still twinging from how suddenly they'd been pulled back, Hajime decided against looking through them. He shook free the burden of something that didn't belong to him. If Oikawa wanted to say something, then he would say it aloud, and it wouldn't matter until he did. It was Oikawa's business until then.

" _You're_ never getting a girlfriend, Shittykawa."

Hajime just needed to stop him from getting into trouble, because he was Oikawa's best friend.

 

 

 

 

And then Oikawa got a girlfriend.

It was ... it was the bizarrest thing.

Tsubusa Yūka was ... nice. She was half a year younger than both of them, was soft-spoken, had expressive eyes, barely reached Oikawa's shoulder, wore her uniform perfectly in a manner that made it look as if every day she wore a set which was perfect, pressed clean, brand new ...

Like. _Nice._

And it made sense for someone petite and non-assuming and elegant and ladylike to be dating this fashionable, good-looking, tall, charismatic player from the volleyball club, who was said to become Captain soon enough. So much sense that it felt like apparently _everyone_ was interested in this duo and _everyone_ was interested in making sure that this insensitive wing spiker called Iwaizumi Hajime was kept away, so they could be given their lovey-dovey private time. Never mind that Hajime and Oikawa had been going to and from school together for _years._

Which was why, as Hajime trailed behind the two quietly whispering lovebirds, along unfamiliar streets which would lead to her place because Oikawa was volunteering his company, Hajime grimaced and decided that everything was suddenly _extremely weird._

And ... and then, two weeks later --

Hajime and Oikawa were back to their usual routine.

Tsubusa Yūka was gone, yet ...

"Eh? Yūka-san?" said their libero, who was also Yūka's classmate, after Hajime asked. "Yea. She's still dating Oikawa. You interested? Better back off. Should'a heard what Oikawa did to her ex after he tried asking her out again."

Yet the afternoons were occupied by club practice, where a loyal girlfriend Yūka-san didn't turn up to watch, or they involved Hajime and Oikawa going to Oikawa's place, where ... nothing changed. Everything was so identical to before the two started dating that it was spooky.

The oddity clicked, after long enough had passed that Hajime was once again used to his relative anonymity, when Hajime was changing his shoes at Oikawa's one afternoon.

"You haven't brought her over, have you?"

Oikawa had already thrown his shoes off, leapt onto the floor level, and was playing with his cellphone. Pink or not, it was a bit cool, since Hajime's mother said he didn't need a cellphone yet. There were once some charms hanging off it, but Oikawa'd ripped them off as soon as his sister had handed it over because her boyfriend had given her a newer model.

"Hm?" Oikawa asked.

"The slippers," Hajime said. "The ... the fact that you're dating, but only the school seems to know."

Oikawa still hadn't looked up from the message he was sending.

"Hm?" Oikawa asked again.

"Stuff the 'hm', Shittykawa," said Hajime through his teeth. "That's _weird._ And you knew it from the start."

"But you're so close to working it out," Oikawa told him. "I'm sure you can do it, Iwa-chan. I believe in you."

Hajime eyed his cryptic best friend with no small amount of frustration.

Oikawa didn't bother filling in the silence. He just kept tapping away as he texted with his right hand, his thumb navigating the buttons on the tiny keypad at remarkable speeds.

Hajime's frown deepened.

Beep-beep. A new message arrived and Oikawa's cellphone buzzed.

Oikawa took a look at it, nodded to himself, then finally glanced up.

"So did you work it out?" Oikawa asked.

As if Hajime could, with his best friend so unreadable whenever he was up to anything. "Work out _what?"_

Simply, in response, Oikawa tossed his phone. Hajime caught it to see Oikawa's inbox was open.

"The ones halfway down, from last weekend," Oikawa said. "When you've read them, delete them."

The inbox was almost full. It took a little accidentally hitting the Menu button for Hajime to scroll down to the time Oikawa told him to. He flicked in and out of the messages there.

> < inbox >
> 
> FROM: Yūka
> 
> (◎´□`)When I pet a penguin, I dropped my ice-cream ...

> < inbox >
> 
> FROM: Yūka
> 
> The dolphin and sea lion show is super heart-pumping. It's their special.

> < inbox >
> 
> FROM: Yūka
> 
> Our date is at the aquarium today! (〃＾▽＾〃)

"You didn't go to the aquarium," Hajime said immediately, as soon as he saw the last one. "We were ... training ..."

As Hajime trailed off, confused at what all these different stories meant, Oikawa's smile kept widening.

Finally, Oikawa said:

"Tsubusa Yūka is dating a college student."

For an instant, it was like the world stuttered.

Oikawa made no effort to pretend he wasn't staring intently, eyes flickering at every movement that Hajime was making. "Surprised?"

 _No_ , was Hajime's first reaction. But he couldn't say it. Words caught in his throat, something large and lodged. The hallway light behind Oikawa was brighter than usual. There was a small dent to one side of the phone, which brushed against the edge of his fingertips when his grip tightened.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I already explained it," said Oikawa, as if saying that his girlfriend was actually dating another person was something entirely normal and not strange at all. "She's got a boyfriend. Her parents don't approve, so she needs another cover." He smiled. "You're always right, Iwa-chan, when it comes to people."

_"What?"_

Oikawa was nodding, in the sort of approval where he was more proud of himself for recognising whatever was being appreciated. "That day, when they were beside the tree. She had her reasons, and her feelings. I decided to help her."

 _"Help,"_ Hajime repeated, sharp in his disbelief. "What the --"

"She was dating both of them, you know. The break-up was because one couldn't take it any more. I saw her close with the college guy and I understood what everything meant. 'You can't have room in your heart for two people at the same time.'"

Hajime flapped his mouth, forcing his words through the air. "So ... she ..."

"She's not innocent."

"I _know_ that," Hajime snapped. The irritation was trying to distract him. "So now she's dating you. Okay. Fine. But do you like _her?"_

A smile curled back, sickeningly sly. "What's this, a threat?" said Oikawa, flapping a hand. His eyebrows were angled in a mockery of surprise. "Iwa-chan likes her too?"

Hajime was determined not to change the topic first. "You're making a mess."

"Don't look so glum," Oikawa remarked, and it was like everything that Hajime was saying was bouncing off Oikawa's skin. "Of course I like her, somewhat. Haha. Isn't it okay if I give you this kind of toss?"

"You'll date her, even though you don't care?"

"She wants help, so I'm just doing her a favour."

Oikawa folded his arms. He tilted his head, and he made it very obvious when his eyes raked across Hajime, from hair to eyes to lips to hands to toes and back up before doing it all over again. Even with his sideways vision, Hajime had no idea what Oikawa was doing.

Then, Oikawa shrugged. After turning aside, the image of a host graciously inviting Hajime into his home, some flower petals twinkled and spun like little turbines.

"I got it. I'll break up with her."

A scoff escaped Hajime before he could keep it in. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Oikawa nodded, earnestly. "Why, isn't it something you want?"

"Don't pretend it's about me."

"You have to be honest with yourself, Iwa-chan."

Hajime was always honest. Hajime was always praised for it. If you were honest, you could call yourself a man. You were worthy of almost anything.

He blinked and froze.

No, that wasn't right. His best friend's smile ... it, it changed. Dripping sin like syrup? No, it can't possibly be that. Not with a reasoning like _wanting to help._ It was ignorant, and it was stupid, because who would date someone on that alone?

"Stupid," said Hajime.

Oikawa grinned, mouth full of teeth, silly and idiotically charming.

With warmth spreading through him, telling him his conclusion was correct, Hajime rolled his eyes.

Somehow, that one line meant more than anything.

 

 

 

 

It had taken less than a month for Oikawa to find Hajime a new nickname, as if Oikawa too felt discontent from no longer being special, with everyone around them switching to the use of last. They were in the same class, and there was a duo in that class, who were also childhood friends and hadn't moved on from childish names.

_"Ai-chan, how was your weekend?"_

_"Nao, let's go to the arcade ..."_

It was less than a month after entering junior high that Oikawa dropped his bookbag onto Hajime's desk, stared at Hajime, then grabbed him by the collar of his shirt so suddenly that Hajime flew forwards and their heads slammed together.

Oikawa let go.

"Arghk!" said Oikawa.

Hajime scowled.

"What?" said Hajime.

"Iwa-chan, did you know your head got replaced by a _rock?"_

Hajime, used to 'Iwaizumi-kun', blinked twice.

By then, their classmates had started laughing. Some of the assholes that loitered outside the gymnasium were together, miming the moment of impact, complete with overblown sound effects and plenty of snickering. It only ended when the bell chimed, replaced instead with sudden movement; taking things off the desks or no longer sitting on the desks, and hurriedly shuffling themselves into the seats where they belonged.

It wasn't until their third year, with Oikawa idly fiddling with a volleyball as they walked to practice, that Hajime asked about the nickname.

"Iwa-chan doesn't want me to call him Iwa-chan?" Oikawa questioned back.

Hajime asked him again; repeating himself; staying steadfast even as Oikawa poked at his cracks, trying to avoid having to give an answer.

With an ease which was _too_ casual, for how long Hajime had known him, Oikawa flipped the volleyball off the tips of his fingers. He caught it before it fell past his chest and held it still. Then, for no reason that Hajime could possibly comprehend, Oikawa closed his eyes and spoke, the sort of words which existed after climbing into treetops or hidden under a fortress made of sheets; those little secret spaces where it was only the two of them, with no wide, wide universe, freed from worldly ties because they had the company of one another. Oikawa spoke, in the sort of tone which was soft and quiet, as if the air would billow away if he were any louder:

"The only person I want by my side is you."

 

 

 

 

"Hajime, could you set up the portable burner?"

"Okay!"

Hajime opened two cupboards before he found it, stored atop a large, folded cloth. He pushed the cloth aside to grab the small gas cylinder tucked there, then carried it with the metal stove all the way to the dinner table.

Oikawa, his mother, his sister and Hajime's father had already sat down. They were in polite conversation: Hajime's father learning that Saki was currently working with some talent managers; Oikawa's mother asking about sales experiences in the auto industry. As Hajime notched the gas cylinder into position, his father leaned forward to grab his drink. Hajime closed the lid with a loud, metallic clang. On Hajime's other side, Oikawa moved to grab his drink as well.

Within moments, the burner lit ablaze with a faint crackle.

Hajime's mother bustled into the room proper, carrying a cast-iron pot in her hands. She set it onto the fire and its broth, steaming and sharp, was quick to return to boil. By the time that Hajime returned from the kitchen with bowls in hand, the temperature was adjusted so the sukiyaki simmered. The vegetables danced whilst the thin beef flexed and bulged, showing off for how little time they'd been exposed to fire.

Saki rose to her feet, drawing her skirts around her, and volunteered to help Hajime finish setting the table.

It was odd, still being shorter than her, when he'd outgrown so many others. She made polite conversation, with her gentle smile and natural head-tilt. Hajime responded when he was required, trying to focus on her words, but all he could do was think of her much older age and how Oikawa would tease him about being alone with her later. She was beautiful, her naturally light hair tinted rosy gold, just enough foreign wholesomeness to look exotic without discarding distinctive Japanese features. In casual clothing, her movements around his kitchen were comfortable and flowing.

Hajime tried not to think about that either.

Soon enough the ingredients were arranged and they all wished their regards towards the meal.

"Congratulations, Oikawa-kun," said Hajime's mother, after reaching over Hajime to grab the chilli.

"It was a team effort," Oikawa deflected humbly, swirling his beef around his egg. To his side, a metal plaque gleamed _Best Setter Oikawa Tōru._ "I couldn't have done it without any one of them. Iwa-chan's spike was the one which won our set. We definitely couldn't have done it without him."

Hajime's mother nodded. "I remember. Before this, you've never managed to take a set, at all?"

Oikawa smiled.

"Shiratorizawa Academy is as prestigious as they say."

The rest of the celebration dinner passed as smoothly as Hajime could have expected. It was as if Oikawa hadn't had any sort of breakdown, had never thrown volleyballs into the ground as if they could burn his fury away on impact, like a meteor entering the stratosphere. It was as if Hajime had never needed to hit into that thick skull about how volleyball was a team sport, and Oikawa had taken their loss as gracefully as he was speaking to Hajime's family about the wonderful work which everyone was doing.

"Tō-tō, leave some mushrooms there," Saki berated, adding more shiitake to the hot pot.

Oikawa's bowl was a little mound of cooked mushrooms gleaming and polished and shiny.

"No one was eating them," he pointed out.

Saki's sigh echoed the swishing of strawberry stems. " _I_ put those in earlier." She looked to Hajime. "Iwaizumi-kun, aren't you glad you don't have siblings?"

Oikawa's yell followed, predictable as usual. _"Hey!"_

There was no reason to hide the smile which tickled the edges of Hajime's mouth. Oikawa, upon seeing this, proceeded to steal the meat out of Hajime's bowl. _Zoom!_ It vanished into Oikawa's mouth and down into his throat.

Hajime's smile vanished. He could hear it all, now, their following exchange, as soon as the first word came out of his mouth: _"Oikawa --"_

"Wait, Iwa-chan ...!"

"Who are you telling to wait, you --"

"Ha ha, are you gonna swea --"

"The only one who's going to sweat here is you."

\-- except none of it happened because Hajime's parents were with them, also eating, and this was a celebration dinner for their last tournament which his mother was hosting.

Oikawa knew this, that shitface.

"Yes, Iwaizumi?" he asked, sweetly.

His expression was curious, genuine with some earnestness he pulled out of who-knows-where. His flower pattern vibrated with mocking mirth. _What are you going to do?_ it asked.

Suddenly, Hajime was very aware that his mother was looking at him with the stare that asked him to frown less, otherwise he'd start putting off all the people around him. The plant life of both his parents shone, dew encrusted greenery splayed in all directions, the leaves showing off their newfound wealth. They were attuned to Oikawa like he was a sprinkler or a magnet. Oikawa and his charisma always attracted the focus of any room.

Fucking ass.

"Nothing," muttered Hajime, forcing himself to look at least like he didn't want to grill someone. That would be a waste of charcoal. At least Oikawa had given up on his old, stupidly long hairstyle a year ago.

Once dinner ended, Hajime and Oikawa were somehow allowed to leave and go to Hajime's room. He kept the room clean, much cleaner than anyone would expect from a teenager, his myriad belongings kept tidied and sparse from little else but self-diligence. It was always strange whenever anyone came over, because there was only one chair in Hajime's room, practical for the one person who stayed in it, impractical when that one person ever had guests. Oikawa threw himself onto it very quickly, so Hajime was forced to sit on the floor.

 _Best Setter Oikawa Tōru_ , the plaque glittered as Oikawa flipped it between his fingers. Oikawa carefully linked their eyes together.

"Hajime," said Oikawa, almost instantly.

The waterfall was a dribble, a tap mostly-closed. It was obvious that Oikawa had wanted to talk before they'd even left the table. Hajime had sat silently while Oikawa smiled broadly and had them both swiftly excused instead of having to join in the clean-up following a hearty occasion.

Hajime held out his hand.

Wordlessly, the plaque was handed over.

Though Oikawa had been playing with it, and its sides were warm, Hajime could feel only cool lifelessness beneath the paint from the fine lettering to the shiny metal on the dead wood.

"You're better than Ushijima," Oikawa said from above him.

Hajime's attention was no longer on what he was holding. "What are you talking about?"

"You're better than Ushijima," Oikawa repeated, again. "You said you weren't."

Oh. That was after the match had ended. The award beamed up at Hajime from where it was in his hands, with an echo of Oikawa's words; _This is proof that our spikers did their very best._ The first time Hajime had seen his best friend cry. Hajime hadn't been thinking when he responded: _Doesn't that mean that Ushijima is better?_

"Don't be stupid," Hajime responded, assuming that Oikawa was doubting his abilities, because why else would he start trying to cheer Hajime up about his own? "Girls wouldn't have accepted you just for your looks."

He was expecting Oikawa to say something light-hearted like, "Wow, I didn't know you cared about my love life in the end." Instead, Oikawa leaned forward and splayed out both his hands. He could have been miming anything from a small explosion to the flapping wings of a butterfly. Or maybe there was invisible string there, spun around his fingers; Hajime saw an imaginary flash of a feather-like structure, tangled in a thin, crack-like web, and wondered if there was a sort of string art which would make the shape of an eagle.

Then Oikawa smiled lightly and sat back with his spine arched, most satisfied, looking for all intents as if he was a model and paid to sit on top of that chair from the very beginning.

"Iwa-chan, did you know? You can learn a lot about a person based on how they act under pressure."

The water was wide and back to moving upwards again. So maybe he wasn't down? Hajime couldn't understand what Oikawa was alluding to.

"Don't change the topic so needlessly," Hajime told him.

Oikawa's eyes flashed. The water widened, began to slow still.

"If you want to learn how to smile genuinely, imagine that you're seeing something you really like."

"If you want to tell me something, cut the cryptic shit."

"No, of course," said Oikawa, shaking his head. "But Iwa-chan, I know you can do it."

"You keep saying that." It would be something which made sense when trying a different type of set, and wanting Hajime to give his best. But it wasn't something which made sense in this type of context, when Oikawa was clearly acting extra.

Oikawa's brows lowered after he read something in Hajime's expression. "I'm not doing this because it's cool. I'm doing it because you need me to."

"Me?"

Oikawa nodded, flower patterns blooming in the waterfall which wasn't made of water.

"Close your eyes?" said Oikawa.

Reluctantly, Hajime obliged.

"Imagine," repeated Oikawa, slowly, "you're seeing something."

Hajime groaned. Of course he ended up doing what Oikawa wanted. "Yeah?"

There was a shuffling sound, then Oikawa's warmth, as his best friend sat down next to him and leaned into his side.

"So?" asked Oikawa. "What do you see?"

"Black," said Hajime.

"Black?"

"My eyes are _closed."_

A finger jabbed into his elbow. "And?"

"And _what_ , Shittykawa?"

If Hajime's eyes were open, he would have narrowed them and refused to stop staring at Oikawa until he gave him an answer he wanted. As it was, he could only raise his voice and breathe loudly through his nose.

His eyes were closed, but he could still sense the waterfall. The water which wasn't water continued moving upwards. The pool by Hajime's toes had nothing to feed into it, steadily growing dry.

Oikawa made a noise like he was pleased with himself.

"Strengths?" Oikawa asked. Something touched his shoulder, careful and deliberate. "Weaknesses?" The touch reached upwards, like it were climbing, Oikawa's fingers pressing into to the side of Hajime's neck. "A person's most deepest motivations?"

Hajime, expecting a third poke to the head, received nothing. A moment later, Oikawa's presence drew away from beside him.

That caused Hajime to open his eyes. Oikawa was sitting, cross-legged, opposite to him. His shoulders drooped, his expression was glum, and Hajime had the strangest sense that it was because he'd done his mind-reading thing and not learned what it was he wanted to see.

"Mmn," said Oikawa, on an exhale of breath like a tide dipping distant and far. "You still think these sorts of things are useless to you."

 

 

 

 

The last time Hajime met Oikawa Saki, before she moved away to care for her own career and her own family, he was in his last year of middle school and the junior volleyball seasons were drawing to a close. It was the time of year when winter was parting its dues and the news spoke of the first cherry blossom trees bursting into flower in the far islands of the country's south. It would be at least another month until the trees in Kitagawa-daiichi's grounds unveiled that year's pink, sweet, spring fashion line. Hajime would be graduating soon, with Oikawa, and they both had some idea of what to expect, with having graduated once already from grade school and been informed by their homeroom teacher about the procedures which would soon start to occur.

Hajime had arrived at Oikawa's place and found his best friend sitting at the table beside his sister, staring intently at the papers between them. In one slim hand was a pen, by the other lay a calculator. He saw words and numbers and operational symbols; it looked like she was working on maths, yet the forms looked very official and like no sort of mathematics homework which Hajime knew.

Oikawa noticed his entrance first. Saki noticed it when Oikawa noticed, and they exchanged greetings before Oikawa's head swivelled back to the sheets once more.

"What are those?" Hajime asked.

"Income tax return forms," Saki explained.

"Income tax?"

"Have you learned what tax is?" Upon Hajime's nod, Saki reached for the paper beneath the calculator, and rotated it to face in Hajime's direction. "Well, at a certain part of the year, it's time to file them based on the amount of money you've earned."

"Oh," said Hajime, though he didn't understand. "Otō-san doesn't do that."

Saki glanced at the form, then smiled. "Some people have to file it themselves."

Oikawa stared at Hajime, then waved his hand in an incredibly bored way.

"Someone like you doesn't need to care about these matters, Iwa-chan."

Like every other time that Oikawa would make such a rude, blasé, blanketing insult, Hajime's legs acted on the instinct which told him that Oikawa was in the beginnings of a Very Bad Idea. As he was the only one who could prevent Oikawa getting into a Very Stupid Situation, Hajime sat down.

A moment late, Saki's eyes landed onto him. Hajime noticed her elbow only an arm away. He looked closer. It was curious. Girls had elbows that looked different from guys.

... maybe he needed something to say.

"Err," Hajime began. She was pretty. The Oikawa genes. Married. Pretty. Vibrant strawberry plants growing behind earthy eyes.

Oikawa snickered.

Being The Mature One who was there to prevent Oikawa getting into a Very Stupid Situation because of his Very Bad Ideas, Hajime coughed to clear the awkward blockage in his throat, resolutely ignored The Stupid One, and proceeded to also ignore his stomach's useless fluttering.

"Will I need to file these?" Hajime asked. He gestured to the forms.

"Perhaps," Saki answered. She rearranged her paperwork in front of her. "If you work for someone who does it for you then you won't have to. But, if you start your own business, or work for more than one person in a year, then you have to do it yourself."

Hajime looked at her. "You're starting your own business?"

"Not quite, but," she winked, "If I were, would you work for me?"

Any thoughts of Oikawa's sister doing multiple jobs under multiple bosses vanished faster than Hajime could complete them. A fire broke out inside Hajime's skin -- nothing else could have explained the furnace -- and as it threatened to torch the rest of the world from whatever he touched, something must have shown on his face because Oikawa laughed so hard he fell backwards into a tumble.

Hajime discovered his embarrassment still had more fuses left to light when Saki turned onto her younger brother.

"Why are _you_ so happy there, Tō-tō?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know, he he he ha."

 _"You,"_ and her tone twisted, her expression the most annoyed that Hajime had ever seen on a woman, perhaps matched by his mother's most searing glare and sharpest pinch of the mouth, "need to learn some _manners,_ immature baby brother of mine."

Oikawa made a fake gasp. "Ehh?! Who do you think _you_ are, obā-sama? Aren't you a bit of a fossil to pretend you're my sister?"

"Go," Saki snapped. "Don't come and watch me working just to talk trash. Maybe someone will teach you better in high school." Her eyes flickered, reminded of something, and then Hajime was the centre of attention when her glance shifted to him. "Iwaizumi-kun, have you decided on a high school yet?"

Hajime didn't trust himself to look directly at her, when she was directly looking at him. Not yet. So he stared at the gap between the table and his legs, nodding, thinking of what his mother was recently saying.

"Okā-san has been looking at Aobajōsai."

Hajime didn't expect Oikawa's head to snap in Hajime's direction, or the silence in place of his usual infuriatingly light-hearted response. When Saki returned to her forms in a deliberately casual manner, one hand reaching out for a document so she could punch some numbers into her calculator, the tap-tap-tapping sound rang through the room in a way that told Hajime that she had known these words were his answer from the very beginning.

Still, Oikawa said nothing. Flower petals spun behind his wide eyes; he was thinking. Looking for other options. Trying to find something, anything. Hajime was about to tell him to hurry up, say that there was a reason that he'd shown up at Oikawa's place and it was not to gawk at Oikawa's newest impersonation, until the thought of going to the house's entrance reminded him that there was a scholarship certificate framed there for _Oikawa Saki,_ gifted by _Aobajōsai Private High School._

"Well," commented Saki, without looking up, fondness in her voice aside some small resignation, "doesn't that make your decision easy then, Tōru?"

Oikawa answered, Hajime next to him, yet Hajime couldn't hear him.

It was odd. Hajime couldn't place it. At that moment, he had the strangest feeling he'd betrayed his best friend somehow.

 

 

 

 

High school.

It hadn't been Hajime's decision, to go to Aobajōsai. He'd seen his mother looking at school pamphlets and heard her chatting with all her friends in the district, and she'd decided it due to their academic prestige and how their alumni had gone into universities where they were set for their future lives. His mother told him that they did have a volleyball club, that that was one of the things she'd checked when trying to find the school which would suit him the most; she'd rattled on about the rest of their clubs and facilities, their excellent teaching staff, and how it would be the best school for his future.

Hajime at fifteen wasn't too interested in thinking about this future. It was this inevitable eventuality that he would go and graduate and then work and work and keep working. He only saw his mother talking with his father about the choice in schools once, and his father had nodded in his usual way, taking in her extensive efforts like a long, thin stem bowing up and down, bobbing in the wind. He was always busy and tired from work, getting home late, never around. Hajime understood that -- it was a part of life. Once he entered the workforce, fourteen hour days would be normal for him, too.

At fifteen, Hajime also started to understand the quirks of his sideways vision.

\-- With the help of an Oikawa that decided to follow him.

"A scholarship?" said Hajime, repeating what Oikawa had told him, but knowing from the leap in his chest that he couldn't have mistaken it; wouldn't have been able to make a mistake there, without a doubt.

Oikawa unfurled an arm as if he were a figure skater. "The embers of my competitive spirit ignited when I learned of your destination, and the phoenix in my chest rose to take me there."

Hajime stared.

"... Huh," he said.

"At least pretend to be _excited_ for me," Oikawa complained loudly.

It was difficult to focus on anything other than the flowers flickering in and out of the waterfall.

They were in the same class again, they joined the volleyball club together again, and they recognised a third of the faces inside. Some were former opponents, most were picked up from Kitagawa-daiichi. Aside the new uniform, the placement and brightness of the lights, and the colours of all the little things such as on the padding or of their vests, the gymnasium and its occupants had a familiarity to it, so Hajime adjusted. He learned very quickly which sides of the hall were claimed by whom in break times or when the others left the fitness equipment free. Oikawa always watched how the wing spikers served or how their setter sent the ball. Hajime watched how that ball went to their ace, the power in the ace's thighs and shoulders, keeping a mental tally of all the miracle points scored no matter how lacklustre it should have made him feel.

A new school level meant a new physical standard. Hajime could feel his muscles tightening and the heartbeat running through his blood.

Hajime would reach them.

On the volleyball club's first inter-school practice match, while Hajime and Oikawa hung around in the substitute zone, halfway into the second set, Oikawa nudged him.

"You see their captain?" said Oikawa.

It was only because Hajime would rather be playing that he did what Oikawa asked. The captain that Oikawa was talking about was a guy with so much jaw and muscle that he couldn't have been anything other than a third-year.

"Yea," said Hajime.

"Tell me what he's thinking."

Hajime did a double-take. "What."

"What?" Oikawa winked, sharing a secretive smile. "Mirror, mirror."

It was only because Hajime would rather be playing that he took a look, saw a runway, and noticed that different light aircraft would land on the tarmac when the captain decided on different plays. It was unexpectedly easy to say that there was a different plane for every different signal and Hajime found himself telling Oikawa the next plays before they were made.

Hajime supposed that, in a sense, he was mind-reading, but he thought with absolute confidence that it can't have been the type of mind-reading which Oikawa was expecting. It was all based on feeling and had nothing to do with the detective procedures that Oikawa employed.

Still, Oikawa asked him. And again. Then it became something which Hajime just did, on or off the court, whenever Oikawa wanted him to.

It took almost two months before Hajime literally stopped in his tracks, realising something which made _sense_.

"The mirror -- your vagueness --" Hajime said abruptly, pausing for a moment because he'd surprised himself, "Are you _training_ me?"

They were walking -- or, well, Hajime was following, thinking thoughts, while Oikawa was walking. The earth aligned with the sun and the stars, drawing a current through Hajime's limbs upon his realisation, anchoring him to the ground with such force that his legs locked together and his eyes flew wide. The question was so sudden that, when Oikawa turned his head, he walked into a utility pole.

In the next moment, once one of them was released from the earth and the other was standing with his face and pride sore, they stared at each other in a strange, impromptu conference, and decided without words that they should detour for the water fountain together.

Oikawa shoved his head under the tap and Hajime wondered if he'd really hurt his jaw.

"You didn't notice until _now?"_ said Oikawa, once he wiped his face and shook his hair dry.

Hajime hovered, somewhat awkwardly, because -- it _was_ a bit obvious, wasn't it? That Oikawa had been fascinated by Hajime's abilities since ... when? Early. Very early.

"Not really," he told him.

Oikawa shook his head. "Iwa-chan, literally _nobody else_ would be _patient_ enough to deal with your type of man."

Before the pang of guilt could overcome him like he'd felt it overcome others in the past, Hajime balled it up and stuffed it somewhere so it wouldn't hurt him. Oikawa always made insensitive jokes; Hajime was just taking it too seriously.

And that was all that Oikawa said there.

Soon enough, like the realisation had unlocked something within, Hajime began noticing more and more patterns around him. The literature teacher had a tiny, fuzzy creature perched on her head, with a face a bit like a rabbit and a mouse's rounded ears. Whenever it was Hajime's turn to write the homework answers in class, her eyes would flicker at him whenever she entered the classroom, and the creature scurried under her collar like there were storm clouds looming rain. Hajime asked Oikawa about it, discovered it was a pika, and they decided it must have feared the frown which his mother had never managed to reverse. Hajime took gentle care in his penmanship and always checked his answers, and the pika soon started greeting Hajime with comically large shrubs clamped between puffy cheeks.

(Hajime would never do better in another subject in his life.)

There were a dozen other instances where Hajime fended off some pranks, most notably when Matsukawa's smoke generator would start spitting or Hanamaki's fireworks would start pinwheeling outside the gym, and neither had enough control to prevent Hajime from sensing them to possibly succeed in their mischief when Hajime was in the same room. Any usefulness was _very_ quickly offset when his immunity turned him into target number one.

(Hajime was very proud to say that he was only ever late to class _once_.)

But, for all his practicing, there were the sides to something else which Hajime thought that he should have seen before the house of cards fell around him.

 

 

 

 

It happened after lunch, in third year, when Hajime was sweeping. Oikawa had a girlfriend. His first, real girlfriend, which he Actually Took Out On Dates, someone with long hair and long legs called Kotosaka Shiori. She was in the music club, her blood type was AB, and her birthday was the inverse of Hajime's. She liked chocolates so long as they were some certain specific types by certain specific brands, and her skill in homemaking was at the level that she kept a popular blog dedicated to food arts she'd made. Together with Oikawa she'd been on dates two times in three months ...

... And Hajime knew all of this information because Oikawa asked him about _everything._

_"Do you know about blood type compatibility?"_

_"Do you think this is a good place to go?"_

_"What are the types of compliments which a summer girl would enjoy?"_

"She's _your_ girlfriend," Hajime would reply. "Do whatever you want, Shittykawa."

Yet ... Hajime had to admit, very grudgingly, that 'Shittykawa' was no longer looking like an appropriate name. His popularity with girls was because he was less of a shameless ladies' man and more of a ladies' friend. Airheaded, yet patient, and seen always welcoming anyone who wanted to push together their tables at lunch, enjoying and welcoming friendly conversation. Apparently his airy outlook juxtaposed against his volleyball intensity was an adorable charm point of hot and cold.

By listening in, Hajime supposed this space-headed one kindly offering his advice did hold some resemblance to the reasons that Hajime had been drawn to him years and years ago. Oikawa exuded this aura of always knowing answers. It didn't hurt that he'd somehow managed to retain some youthful boyhood when some of the earliest developers had already grown extra hair.

Except.

One day, after lunch, Oikawa was being ignored.

Hajime and Oikawa and his girlfriend Shiori shared the same lunch duty roster. Usually, Hajime would stay in the classroom whilst the other two took the trolleys back to the kitchens. But Kotosaka-san called him over as he was setting the desks back, asking to swap --

\-- and, the next moment, Hajime was manoeuvring a metallic cart down a flight of stairs, staring at the back of Oikawa's head as he contemplated what his best friend had done.

"Iwa-chan's giving me that look again," Oikawa remarked without turning around.

Hajime continued to frown. He knew just as well as Oikawa did that he'd caught the two of them making out once because they'd taken too long to come back. Maybe Hajime should have examined her before agreeing so swiftly.

Oikawa's voice _pouted._ "Why do you always accuse _me?"_

"You mean it wasn't you?"

"Of course not." Upon Oikawa's nod, perhaps the crystals catching the light should have alerted Hajime as to what was going on. "She was the one who broke up with me."

The statement was so unexpected that Hajime's foot caught against the top of the next stair.

"You _what?"_ Hajime demanded, having recovered from nearly tripping.

"Not _me,_ Iwa-chan, _she_ did. Clean out your ears," Oikawa told him, casually enough to set Hajime on edge. Without pausing, he answered the question that Hajime was going to ask. "I don't spend enough time with her."

Hajime rolled his eyes. Like that was surprising. Oikawa was always with Hajime. It wasn't like Kotosaka Shiori was anything like Tsubusa Yūka, where their relationship was fake. Yūka-san and Oikawa didn't have enough of a real relationship for her to become disillusioned with the hours Oikawa spent on practice, which somehow increased every time anyone said or _thought_ of any phrase containing 'Shiratorizawa'. Kotosaka minded that Oikawa only went to the effort of giving attention to those around him when it suited his fancy, or how he talked people into circles for nothing but his own amusement, and that was something which increased more and more often proportional to the time he spent around them.

Hajime knew that last point was one which got on the nerves of their whole year group from the volleyball club. Hajime, who didn't mind the waterfall shards sometimes spinning around or clicking into the shape of a flat, two-dimensional wall, could understand why Hanamaki and Matsukawa would be annoyed by it. The easiest way to get Oikawa to _stop_ and _shut up, it's the middle of practice_ , was to go along with the logic until Oikawa was done.

"Actually," Oikawa added, "Her friends gave her the idea."

Hajime prepared to be resigned. "Eavesdropping?"

"Nope."

"Then ..."

"I don't know what they said. They just did."

"Cut the cryptic --"

As if he couldn't hear Hajime, Oikawa reached into his pocket for his smartphone.

"Hey --" Hajime said as he jerked.

Oikawa waved his other hand, like phones weren't banned, and Oikawa was playing a crazy game having his with him when a teacher could just walk by and see. "Don't worry, don't worry. I'll know if there's anyone around. Here. I'll show you. You look here," and Oikawa pointed to something, so Hajime leaned closer to read a social media feed, Oikawa explaining the context before the text made itself clear, "Kimiko-chan spends her lunchtimes outside the doorway to her classroom."

The message said: _The sky is clear today._

The message above that one said: _There seems to be talk about that one boy being dumped ..._

The message above the one above said: _Is it weird to admire people because they have what you don't?_

None of it made any sense to Hajime and Hajime did not hesitate to let Oikawa know. "What the hell."

... Except, as Oikawa continued to stand there, smiling like an asshole who wouldn't explain anything unless Hajime tried to solve it himself, Hajime's brows twitched. Hajime wasn't trying to solve it. He was raised not to care, and so he couldn't care less about whatever machinations Oikawa had gotten himself into this time. Yet the shifting of the waterfall and all the training from Oikawa made it impossible to stop his subconscious from connecting all the seemingly unrelated things together.

Hajime remembered the Kimiko-san from Oikawa's fan troupe. It seemed that she liked Oikawa enough to blog about him. Hajime also knew that she was the shy type who wouldn't speak up, even after witnessing Hajime throw a volleyball at Oikawa's head and slamming his senses with disapproval so immense that it was like _he'd_ gotten hit with a volleyball instead. He couldn't imagine a person with her character would talk about Oikawa if she knew Oikawa were reading her blog. Whether she knew or not, it didn't change the fact that Oikawa found it, and he was clearly ...

Oikawa winked at Hajime and Hajime's head filled with fireworks.

"You're using them," Hajime said, with a voice unprepared to form words, more like a whisper surrounded by a cacophony which existed unheard until the current time.

"What's this? Iwa-chan is accusing me of something which he --"

"You keep them around you for information. All the girls. The ..." Hajime felt a chill in his spine. "The reason you give me special treatment. I'm useful to you."

And that explained the waterfall which always rose, why sometimes Hajime thought he saw a void eating things up. He'd always known, at least intuitively, that Oikawa was different. Why his fragments formed the shape of flowers, that they were pretending to be real. They were made of glass, untouchable, small enough that they couldn't break any further, sharp-edged and dangerous to cross. Hajime no longer overreacted so much to changes in emotion, dealing with his hypersensitivity by letting most of it drain away. Gravity-hungry Oikawa encouraged Hajime for it, didn't say to block the drains and bury the demons because men don't cry, didn't say that men had to do that to grow strong, because ...

Because when everyone would be worried, Oikawa would start an impromptu memorisation game based on whatever would be on the exams.

Because when they watched movies, Oikawa found everything else more interesting than the character's conflicts, relationships, or journeys.

Because when a girl pushed her desk to his at lunchtime and had all the markings of someone with a crush, Oikawa would already be expecting Hajime to come up with the nature of her love and thinking of the best way to get rid of her if she didn't fall under any of the types he fancied.

Because Oikawa was an empty, cold, hollow-sucking void.

Oikawa opened his mouth and Hajime recognised the pattern of petals instantly.

"Don't apologise," said Hajime, before a word of false sincerity could escape those lying lips.

Oikawa closed his mouth and blinked.

"What's this?" Oikawa responded.

"You should apologise to Kotosaka-san for not spending enough time with her." Spending time, at least, would have been a promise that even a mannequin could fulfil. "Tell Kimiko-san that you like the sky, too." It would make her happy and maybe she'd get the hint that Oikawa was reading her entries, so she'd stop. "And then --"

Hajime was cut off when Oikawa staggered and slumped forward. Very conveniently, he landed with one arm wrapped around Hajime's neck and the other hidden by their bodies.

"Iwa-chan," said Oikawa into Hajime's collar, his hidden hand squirming around as he searched inside Hajime's blazer. "I thought you were going to explain why I shouldn't apologise, not make a shopping list."

"My change is in my other pocket."

Oikawa's searching hand switched targets instantly. "Thank you. Peach tea?"

"Green tea. Sugarless." Hajime felt the money leaving his side and knew he'd get it back at the end of the month, with anything else that Oikawa owed. "No jokes unless you want to get slapped. Make sure you don't flirt. Don't apologise for anything else."

The arm around his neck lifted and Oikawa untangled himself. He drew back, and stopped, faces uncomfortably close. It was that thing where he stared at Hajime, so he could tell what Hajime was thinking better. Apparently. Oikawa didn't do it so much, nowadays. Especially not in the middle of a corridor, after being dumped by his girlfriend, on an errand which should have taken at most ten minutes, delaying their return to the classroom where their classmates were likely gossiping.

Oikawa must have seen something interesting to him because he raised one of his eyebrows.

"Don't apologise to you?"

"Not until you can mean it."

"If I'm mean about it? What if I happen to really, truly regret something, mmn?" Oikawa tucked his hands into his pockets. The way his shoulders shifted was almost inviting. "Are you sure that's what you want? You surrr~e?"

Hajime didn't fall for the walking, talking, trashcan, unable to stop thinking about that inescapable void.

"Shittykawa," said Hajime.

"Yes, Iwa-chan?"

"Get out of the way so we can go back to class," and Hajime had to close his eyes, tried to ignore the feeling of a hand gripping his stomach, an omen more than something he could sense, "You're so fucking blinding I can't even see."

 

 

 

 

It would take a certain sort of fool to think that a quiet Oikawa was an Oikawa who was at peace, or on his best behaviour. Hajime had noticed in middle school that despite the appearance of a prodigious setter, and the many glances given by his best friend when he thought that nobody was looking, Oikawa didn't make many comments about this future replacement threatening his position. Yet, it was never any issue until that one night when Oikawa had snapped; all the pieces of the waterfall falling, obeying gravity, clattering to the floor.

Hajime headbutted him and Oikawa's attitude did a one-eighty.

Hajime, who had his sideways vision and could sense others since his earliest memory, thought that Oikawa had recovered unusually quickly.

Hajime, whose decision-making was not aided by these supernatural forces, decided that Oikawa's recovery deserved the doubt. So Hajime didn't push his best friend, who _was_ working with the rest of the team -- was doing everything which Hajime told him to do on the other side of that unreadable flower pattern waterfall. Hajime assumed Kageyama's adoration for Oikawa would lead him to Aobajōsai and decided to leave his concerns alone unless the past returned and repeated again.

Third year in high school approached, accompanied by this certain whispering that they would be joined by Kitagawa-daiichi's prodigious setter, the King of the Court, and whenever the stories reached Oikawa, Hajime watched him change topics and fluidly redirect without anyone the wiser.

And then Kageyama went to Karasuno.

And then Karasuno sought out an invitation to practice match, where they used a move that nobody could have anticipated.

Oikawa said nothing about Kageyama, no more than he needed to. He spoke of what to expect from Karasuno, portrayed their loss as a learning experience so they were not taken by surprise once the Inter-High arrived, the perfect captain, giving people what it was they wanted to see. Hajime wondered more than once if Oikawa had orchestrated it, been responsible for suggesting that they should accept. Hajime wouldn't have been able to say what such a suggestion would have achieved.

They win in the Inter-High, lose against Shiratorizawa.

The five months before January were well-known to every student, regardless of their year. To those in their last year, the march would begin; studying was expected to start; anybody who did not wouldn't have any chance in the national exams, and wouldn't enter university.

Hajime told his parents that he'd study, and he tried, but volleyball consumed him. He needed to play better. Oikawa worked hard, trained relentlessly, knew that it was their last chance for him to take his revenge. Hajime watched him honing the death-spin serve and Hajime couldn't tell what revenge Oikawa wanted.

Hajime's senses flickered in and out of his consciousness, his breaths were heavy, he leaned forward for a few seconds before tipping his head back and emptying the rest of his drink bottle.

Studying, analysing -- with a goal, Oikawa had the drive to follow his ability to see where to make up for his faults. On the other hand, Hajime had to make all these extra efforts to concentrate on the atmosphere and put word to what he could feel. There wasn't time for daydreaming, there, in that moment, with every day as their last day to train.

He wasn't just doing it for Oikawa. He did it because he's the Ace, and he's the one who set the mood for the rest of the team. There was a duty beyond just doing it for Oikawa.

They trained.

They played.

They exchanged remarks and bantered at the water fountain, in the moments they had to relax -- knowing they needed to maintain their energy, to train again the next day -- and Hajime meditated in the air of determination, ambition, resolution, conviction.

They stayed on for Spring.

 

 

 

 

And then they lost.

 

 

 

 

Hajime's father was home early.

"Hajime," his mother said slowly, as she watched Hajime obeying the unspoken request to take a seat. As she continued, it became evident she was not talking to him. "Hajime lost his last tournament."

It looked like they hadn't been seated for long, as the two cups in front were three-quarters full of tea. Hajime sat, his mouth dry, though his father wasn't looking his way. He was still looking where Hajime had been when Hajime was standing, which meant his eyes were fixed above Hajime's head, and this staring-where-he-wasn't-staring made it seem like he hadn't been looking at Hajime at all. The palm tree stretched tall, its leaves sky-scraping distant, too far for a Hajime used to Oikawa's blatant displays of attention.

Hajime's father moved his head, looking to Hajime's mother.

"I see," he said.

Hajime's mother looked to Hajime's father. "The Center Test is in three months."

Hajime's father nodded. "University is here already."

It hadn't even been a week since Karasuno won. It hadn't been a week since Hajime saw Oikawa moving from one side of the court to the other without thought for maintaining that shitty image, Oikawa radiant in his determination, Hajime receiving that hunger with his desire to prove himself, the rest of the team feeding off their energy because they wouldn't accept being left in the background either. Oikawa had told Hajime to lock up the club room before he'd vanished first, and Hajime could still feel the stinging in his knuckles from the walls punching him back, echoed by a stirring in his chest which were the remnants of tears from something he couldn't name.

Elation. A good match.

Disgust. So these were his limits.

Disappointment.

...

Throughout his parents' exchange, knowing it wasn't his turn to talk, Hajime refilled his parents' teacups, turned upright the extra teacup left beside the teapot so that he could pour some tea for himself, and said nothing.

The doorbell rang then, a heavy, vibrating sound, some gym equipment receiving another set of weights. Hajime jumped, remembered there was a world still-breathing around him. His efforts to decode his feelings were a waste. It was little more than self-pity.

His mother's nose was wrinkled up from the sound.

"Ignore it," she instructed.

The doorbell fell silent.

A strange feeling was clinging to Hajime's head, even though he'd dismissed his self-absorbed thoughts, and Hajime closed his eyes. It tasted like mint and filled his lungs, sprouting weeds. When the feeling intensified after he glanced past his mother, he realised it was an emotion reflected off her. Bitter and paralysing and drifting in the air like dandelion seeds searching for new ground where to settle.

The doorbell rang again, like the universe didn't want to leave Hajime alone. Yet, the universe couldn't do anything when Hajime was in his mother's presence; she wasn't a god, but with how his father deferred, her authority within his family made her one. Hajime didn't hate his father for that. Despite his presence more absent than not, Hajime couldn't find it within himself to hate the man at all. Hajime didn't hate his mother either. He understood she was trying her best. She knew what was best for him.

It wasn't the system. Systems were imaginary forces, catalysts, ways for people to leak their feelings into the environment. In no places other than those with the most entrenched of systems could Hajime sense things most clearly; the amount of frustration and anxiety in schools could not be compared with those of anywhere else. And places with systems had their purpose. The world would break without rules to keep everything in order.

Thoughts. Useless. Hajime's hands clenched together the fabric over his knees.

He was seeing shadows in a house of mirrors.

"... expect you to focus on your studies," his mother was saying. Whatever else she'd said, Hajime didn't hear. "There is no longer time left to delay. All the other students have at least two months advantage over you. Some have more. I have been looking at cram schools in the area, and there's one which --"

She fell silent, just as a chill brushed past the back of Hajime's exposed neck. The chill wasn't imaginary; it was because the window behind him had opened, and a voice spoke aloud -- the last voice which Hajime wanted to hear right now.

"Oh, it's open," Oikawa remarked. The window shuttled audibly as the metal frame hitched further open, and Oikawa took a breath before shouting through the space, "Iwa-chan! Do you have my jacket?"

As Hajime turned around, the only warning before hot liquid spilled over the tabletop was the second where he felt porcelain under his forearm. The cup, knocked aside, swivelled in half an arc before slowing, and his school shirt's white sleeve started to absorb the liquid and discolour. His face heated up. How much -- how much had Oikawa heard?

"I was borrowing your locker again and took yours when I left." The explanation suggested that Oikawa misinterpreted the look on Hajime's face. Hajime reached for his senses, wanting to know what it was, but by the time he managed to disable the clamps keeping his strongest sensitivity suppressed, his best friend had shifted his attention to Hajime's parents, and Hajime didn't find out if Oikawa was bending the truth into lies. Oikawa gave a little bow, charm on full throttle. "Good evening, Oba-san, Oji-san."

Hajime's mother recovered first. She was still shaking her head a little at the unexpected intrusion. "Oikawa-kun, good evening." Hajime saw how every word raised each of the potted plants that had fallen over in her garden. When she turned to Hajime there was enough serenity restored to its grounds for it to flourish again. "Hajime, would you check if you have the wrong jacket?"

Hajime nodded and rose to his feet. He went up to his room, where his bag was stowed. As he did, his mother bustled outside, going to invite Oikawa in.

It turned out he'd put his gym bag near the laundry, instead, so he went back down.

Oikawa had moved from the window to the entryway, having declined entering the house, if the volume of Hajime's mother's words carrying up the stairs was any indication.

"-- I heard about your loss, Oikawa-kun. That's unfortunate. Are there any other tournaments left before you graduate?"

Hajime ducked into the laundry, and sure enough, his bag was there.

"There's another at the end," Oikawa's voice informed. "It's only first and second years though. We'll definitely win it with how good Iwaizumi is at teaching --"

The jacket in the first pouch looked like any other, but clearly said _Oikawa Tōru_ upon closer inspection. As Hajime pulled it out, his mother stated:

"Hajime will no longer be involved with volleyball."

\-- and Hajime did not react.

"Aah," said Oikawa, in a tone so sympathetic that goosebumps rose on Hajime's skin.

It was not _Hajime_ that reacted. Not Hajime who fogged the mirror, crackling thunder, generated dry static in air humid without rain. _Oikawa's_ response was a reaction, searing across the folds of Hajime's brain. Languid heat in musty summer, seeping and clogging even the thinnest fabric. Unrelenting in sticky persistence. Not frigid, not distant, criticism under the guise of kindness. Oikawa Tōru _did not_ go sympathetic without other motives involved.

Hajime could feel all of that from a room away.

He didn't react because he'd expected it as soon as he'd arrived home. There was no choice aside from acceptance. It was Hajime's duty as the man of the household to look after his mother and make sure that what she wanted was being done. Volleyball got in the way of that.

Hajime stopped, seized the dreams of victory and playing again, and imagined opening his chest before locking them in for safekeeping.

"I understand," continued Oikawa. "However, Iwaizumi has brought a great name to our school. He is Aobajōsai High's ace. Being captain does not matter without a great team -- I need Iwaizumi by my side, and we need him in order to win."

 _Let it go,_ thought Hajime. Whatever motive Oikawa had, Hajime didn't want anything to do with it.

"There are no victories left, Oikawa-kun," the voice of Hajime's mother said, softly, and Hajime heard through the words her understanding of his pride, his unwillingness to retreat when retreat was the best option remaining.

Hajime stepped out of the laundry to the end of the conversation, and stopped.

His father was there.

"-- I apologise for my rudeness," said Oikawa, once he took his jacket and made his excuses.

"I'll escort you home," insisted Hajime's mother.

"I'd hate to be a burden ..."

"It's no trouble ..."

In the distance, the door closed, leaving Hajime standing there, stiff and awkward. What should he say? I miss you? That wasn't something he could say. The thickness in his chest as his dreams started to ferment meant he didn't know if he'd be able to stop the tears before they escaped and let go. No amount of missing someone could repair how the world worked.

The silence did not go on for as long as Hajime feared.

"Please listen to your mother, Hajime. She only means well."

His father was looking up at him. Hajime realised there was another person to add to the list of everyone he'd outgrown.

Silently, Hajime responded with a single nod.

"You'll be sure to make her proud, Hajime."

Silently, Hajime should have responded with a single nod. He didn't. His mouth blurted, "Why can't you?"

His father continued looking at him, and Hajime could not understand what it was he was trying to say; why, for whatever reason, that palm tree's leaves were beginning to wilt, why the bark was becoming dry.

"You'll be a great man of the house," said Hajime's father.

 _Because I cannot spend enough time with either of you_ , the palm tree added.

Hajime took a long, steady breath. Hajime thought of becoming the vice-captain, the Ace; the responsibility he'd taken on, that Oikawa expected of him. It was something that Matsukawa and Hanamaki would crack up about how great it would be to call themselves the _Ace_ , or the _vice-captain_ , but their jokes were funny because the captain and vice-captain roles were always taken for granted since the four of them became the only ones left in their year. Hajime understood how to take roles. Taking this one, too ...

Hajime nodded. "Yes, Otō-san."

Yes. He could make his parents proud.

That had always been his duty.

 

 

 

 

As soon as the graduation ceremony was over, after Hajime spent hours in the hall, doing his best to avoid becoming emotional when surrounded by hundreds of people with tears spilling down their cheeks or aching in their hearts, he had fled from the current as if running from a flood could undo any damage it's already caused. Perhaps a small part of him had been hoping for something, because the next thing he realised was that he was standing by the gymnasium where the volleyball club would meet most evenings, and he was looking up at the sky.

"Iwa-chan," called Oikawa's voice.

Hajime didn't move. Here his feet had taken him, and Oikawa had been the one to introduce him to volleyball, so it wouldn't have been surprising if his mind was also playing tricks on him too. The sky slicked golden pink was making him sentimental, reminding him of wood beneath his feet and daylight peering through cracks, the sun checking if anyone would miss it when it went to sleep; practice going overtime, or the shorter days of winter. In the air he breathed quiet whispers and daisy chained promises. He and Oikawa. He'd beaten the reminder into his best friend that the volleyball court did not leave any man behind. They would beat Shiratorizawa and get their revenge, through wilting stems and petals slipping away.

"Iwa-chan."

Oikawa's voice again. They wouldn't be going to the same university. Hajime sent the answers he'd chosen for the national exams to the cram school. They'd told him that, with his numbers, and how his parents were set on a certain destination, it would be best if he retook a year of study. They wouldn't be going to the same university, because Hajime wasn't going to university that year. There wasn't any doubt that Oikawa would be selected for that university's sports team, because anyone who looked at him would have been able to tell how this was a young man with the power and perception to take people to their limits. He understood the world too well. He --

Two hands slammed into his back and Hajime stumbled forwards.

"I-wa-chaaan ~" Oikawa sung.

Hajime, still catching his breath, managed to twist around and shove his best friend's smiling features. Under Hajime's palm, Oikawa continued smiling. The smile was so irritating that Hajime considered punching him.

He punched Oikawa's shoulder instead.

 _"What?"_ Hajime growled.

"What?" Oikawa echoed, tilting his head as if he weren't an asshole and didn't know.

Hajime entertained the question in case Oikawa didn't in fact know. "Shouldn't you be chatting up girls and giving away your buttons?"

Oikawa shrugged, throwing out his hands. "Why would I do that when we don't wear a button over our hearts?"

For some strange reason, Hajime glanced down to where Oikawa's heart would be, and saw his tie over his school shirt. Well, maybe it would be weird to reach under a tie and take a button off from there. The tradition about giving the second button away to confess one's love did apply to gakuran-style uniforms a lot more than theirs.

"Whatever," Hajime told him. In case Oikawa thought he cared.

One of Oikawa's hands made a little bowing motion, as he gave Hajime's waist a meaningful glance, and Hajime eyed it for a moment before he understood that Oikawa wanted him to lean over. The stare Hajime returned undoubtedly had no small amount of stink eye because Oikawa tilted his head and gave Hajime an imploring look in return.

"Come on, Iwa-chan," said Oikawa, clicking his tongue when the imploring tactic worked as effectively as throwing water bombs against a brick wall with the intent of reducing it to rubble. "It's graduation. Just once, 'kay?"

"Fine," said Hajime, and so he stiffened his wrists, cupped his hands, and leant forwards.

In the next moment, Oikawa had already launched off the makeshift step and vaulted onto the brick wall of the water fountain.

Oikawa grinned down. "I knew you loved me."

"Who the fuck loves _you?"_

"And here I thought my undying love and devotion was reciprocated."

"Reciprocate yourself, Shittykawa."

With that, it seemed that Oikawa grew bored, and so he chose to stay silent rather than making remarks about Hajime's lack of creativity. When the quiet stretched on for longer than Hajime was used to, he looked over, and realised that Oikawa was staring into the distance, at that horizon line where the ground met the sky.

"... Hey, Iwa-chan."

Hajime looked away and pretended he wasn't watching. "Yeah?"

"I got an invitation letter."

Hajime didn't know why that was bad. He looked back. "So what?"

Oikawa shrugged. He tossed his head back, and for a moment, his feathery hair looked full of wings.

"It's not the same university," Oikawa told him.

\-- And Hajime remembered that he wasn't going to university, which it didn't matter which university Oikawa went to, really. Hajime hadn't had enough time to memorise everything for his exams and Hajime wasn't _exceptional_ at volleyball, nothing outstanding, not like Oikawa Tōru.

"Congratulations," said Hajime, and the words sounded bleak to his own ears.

Oikawa shrugged and tucked his feet beneath him.

"Iwa-chan," he said, changing the topic for whatever reason.

"What?"

Apparently it wasn't the response which Oikawa wanted.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa said again.

Hajime wasn't in the mood for playing Oikawa's games. "Just say whatever you want to, Shittykawa."

Somehow this response was correct because Hajime could feel Oikawa's smile without even having to turn Oikawa's way.

"If we go to different universities," Oikawa said, "and I won't be around to set for you now, do you think you'll keep playing volleyball?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"Well?" asked Oikawa, impatiently.

Hajime had an idea about what Oikawa was trying to ask him.

"If we face each other, I'll still kick your ass," said Hajime.

Oikawa jumped off the wall, dusted himself off, beaming.

That should have been the end of it. Oikawa was resourceful, and smart, and so ...

It shouldn't have mattered if their university wouldn't be the same.

 

 

 

 

It had been a mistake, not telling Oikawa.

The phone ringing in the middle of one evening, as Hajime had just been in the middle of wiping down his room, had shrilled Oikawa's tune -- this stupid song that Oikawa had changed it to when Hajime'd left it unattended for two minutes one day in the club room. Hajime had picked up with no heed for the dreadful feeling beginning to creep in, thinking his senses were just acting up again; hoping that it was an emotion belonging to something outside the house rather than the ominous nerves within his own instinct and courage.

"Is it true?" Oikawa demanded, before Hajime could even say hello.

"Is what --"

"That you're not going to university."

The dread became a lump in Hajime's throat, tensing in mortification, stopping him from speaking words.

Oikawa understood the silence. Hajime understood that about him back. If Hajime had to admit it, he'd ended up understanding Oikawa's responses before he'd understood the nature of his sideways vision itself.

"I overheard your Kā-san telling mine," said Oikawa, who knew how his bluntly-spoken words alluded to a bitter disgust, that surely _Hajime_ knew about this already, and _Hajime_ hadn't told him about it first, this loss of pride. Aside from this, Oikawa knew everything about Hajime. Hajime hadn't told him about something so key to the rest of their lives. And Oikawa continued, with the same, disappointed tone: "I don't know why."

Why.

Why Hajime hadn't gotten into university. _Because I'm stupid_ , he barely kept back. Because Hajime was _ordinary_ , unlike Oikawa, because all of his talent in volleyball came from Oikawa, and what coach wanted a spiker who couldn't function as well when swapped between setters? The question stung, more than it should. It wasn't even as if Hajime had the excuse of being extraordinary when with Oikawa, either. If he'd been extraordinary, he would have been able to secure all the much-needed points to lead them to much-needed wins. They would have long gotten their revenge over Shiratorizawa together.

"I'm waiting for you," said Oikawa, breaking the silence in a way that told Hajime he could read him. But Hajime didn't feel relief when the subject was dropped. Not when pig-headed Oikawa would chase a rivalry for six years, all because he'd considered himself slighted in a game of volleyball.

Which meant --

"You moronic _bastard,"_ Hajime swore, realising that Oikawa was serious. Oikawa had no intention of being separated. No way would Hajime let this asshole pretend to be self-sacrificial.

"Hajime," and Oikawa's voice was slow, patiently so, "we're best friends, aren't we?"

"Being best friends doesn't mean you should throw away your future!"

"What future?" Oikawa paused, as if considering it only because Hajime mentioned it. If the genuine confusion was a joke, Hajime didn't find it funny. "I'm always here for you, and you promised you'd be here for me. You promised."

"When did --"

Hajime remembered a hospital, red string woven around fingers, and talk of Jacob's ladder.

"Oh," said Hajime.

"Oh," agreed Oikawa. "I'm waiting for it. Until that day comes, when you can do that, I'll be with you."

 

 

 

 

Hajime hung up first.

He had nothing -- nothing at all, which he could possibly say.

He --

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, Hajime sees a waterfall behind his eyelids, noisy with the sounds of Tōkyō. It shows up when Hajime is at an intersection surrounded by people, a tiny speck in a vast sea, the thoughts and imaginations of these strangers washing in front and around and behind as the city's inhabitants worked or walked or wandered; all with dreams, loneliness, yearnings for their own answers, or so burdened by responsibility that they've long forgotten what thoughts they may have once had of flying. There's nothing to touch and nothing to grab. Everyone is moving quickly, too quickly, no matter what they're doing or even if there's no reason to rush at all. Nobody is staying around Hajime long enough for there to be any lasting bond, it's too fleeting for reflections to solidify; Hajime can stand and brush past hundreds of minds and be a single point alone in a swarm.

He readjusts the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder, takes a breath to mute his senses, and walks out of the station.

Muting his senses isn't as effective as if Oikawa were with him. Oikawa would have been able to distract Hajime from the feeling of everyone else's egos engulfing his own. He would have been able to pick through what mattered and didn't matter in the grand order, where Hajime would place the same value on a person's loneliness and the loneliness left behind in the peeling walls of a neglected room.

Hajime goes to cram school for his family. His senses are only ever useful to Oikawa. His mother wants him to do well. His father is a totem, a shadow more than a person, who Hajime is obliged to respect and follow. Hajime studies to get into university and then graduate with a stable job. Oikawa isn't going to university even though Oikawa is smarter than Hajime, because he thought that he could stay with Hajime, but --

Hajime isn't unique. Hajime can't decide without Oikawa which images are important or what all his senses are trying to say.

Hajime walks and his head inclines forwards, as if his hedgehog spikes can push away the one thought that returns at the end, time and time again.

Hajime failed his best friend Oikawa.

Something feels like it's ripping in his head, and then Hajime's left with the clearest sense of loneliness yet. It's the daylight breaking through the curtains moments before the sun shuts down, cold and dim. Everyone around him is a whisper made from wilting stems, petals slipping away.

Hajime's feet stop on a red signal and he looks up past the building in front of him. The top of a Ferris wheel arcs above it, from the theme park attached to the Tōkyō Dome. He sees a flash of green in the sky and blinks; it belongs to a balloon rising towards the clouds, flying away, and Hajime wonders if it belonged to a child who's now reaching up, flapping their hands as if they could be wings.

The signal studiously flashes to green and Hajime's gaze drops so that he can cross the road under the lights and their guardian eyes.

"Iwaizumi-kun?" a voice exclaims suddenly, familiar yet difficult to place. Careful not to bump his bag into anybody around him, Hajime turns around, and stares at the strawberry blonde hair and the strawberry flowers of Oikawa Saki.

His heart skips. She's always been incredible.

Her image is accompanied by the wishful thought that _Oikawa must have been with her._ Oikawa hadn't forgotten to call, Oikawa had just --

"Is Tōru with you?"

Hajime starts. "Huh ...?"

She misinterprets the sound. "He hasn't been answering his phone, that rascal. When you see him today, let him know that --"

"He hasn't made plans to see me, Saki-san."

Behind Hajime, as if waiting for his cue, the lights change to green and a new load of people are released, and those people navigate past these two travellers as if they'd never encountered one another. Oikawa would have called it the whims of chance. She's tugging along a small suitcase, so Hajime supposes she's about to take the train. She must have thought that he's heading to the baseball game at Tōkyō Dome even though he isn't; his target is another much smaller gymnasium, where a neighbourhood crowd plays volleyball, Hajime in the line-up as their stubborn middle blocker.

Surprise and confusion cloud her features for the instant before they transition into frustration.

"I swear," she says bitterly, making Hajime wonder how many times she's tried to call, "always having to chase that selfish boy ..."

 _He's not selfish,_ Hajime thinks reflexively. _He pretends to be._ Hajime knows what the selfish feel like, and they're not the ones who take their time, patiently accepting Hajime and his flaws. Oikawa gave Hajime his everything and Hajime still has to give back what he's taken in turn.

"Saki-san, did you know --" He cuts himself off, remembering where he is and who he's meant to be. A man, strong, with no doubts.

Her eyes light up in unspoken understanding and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, Iwaizumi-kun. We didn't know that he rejected the invitation until it was too late ..."

Her understanding is wrong. She can't read Hajime's mind, not like Oikawa can, and nothing like how he could understand Oikawa's thinking as well. And that's why he's so worried about Oikawa that he'd almost said it aloud; how is he doing? Is he chasing skirts, still, or staring into the air above peoples' heads? Looking for something that doesn't exist, or looking for Hajime at his eye level?

Saki is still talking. "... since you've -- always been around him, so I think you know the most about what he's really thinking at any time."

Yes. Oikawa doesn't forget things. He keeps Hajime accountable for something he's said years ago. Hajime remembers making that promise, and it's not that Hajime's _raised_ to be the sort of man who keeps his word but rather that Hajime _wants_ to be. He's not going to be like his father, who can see his mother's loneliness, yet does nothing. Oikawa doesn't forget things, so Oikawa can be spiteful, deliberately making this meeting into an example. Tell everyone but Hajime, and never show.

(He does realise, briefly, that Oikawa could simply be doing his own thing. He thinks of that interest which Oikawa's shown in Hinata Shōyō, and thinks as much of it as he thinks whilst tying his shoes. Oikawa reminds him of ropes and knots, hiding a snare trap which could be as easily passed off as an accidental loop or passed off as something deliberately conceived. But Hajime knows that it wouldn't be another one of those questionable _dates_ , since Karasuno's supposed to be in a volleyball tournament in an hour, the Finals. That's not a possibility he needs to be considering.)

"He doesn't tell me much of anything these days," Saki continues, strawberry stems releasing all the little thoughts she's been collecting and hasn't had a chance to tell. "Kā-chan's gone to visit the site at Sapporo and forgot her phone at home, and you would think he has the common sense to message me if he's found it. He hasn't contacted anybody."

"He's coming," Hajime says. "He's ... going to watch the baseball game. He'll have it with him. He'll --"

The look which Saki gives him is one that's full of pity. She pulls her bag towards her as another crowd of people is dispatched past.

"It would be nice if he'd show as much care as you do, Iwaizumi-kun."

There's an edge of exasperation in Saki's words, and Hajime doesn't know where it comes from or why it seems to be in his direction. Hajime's thinking of Oikawa, this best friend who refused to leave him alone, was always there when Hajime needed, and was the only reason that Hajime could keep the ordinary from becoming extraordinary when reflecting the world with his mirror. Care and worry for Oikawa barrel around without asking for permission.

Hajime has enough practice at keeping weak emotions from appearing, so his expression gives hint of nothing.

"He'll call," says Hajime, with the firmest convictions.

They part ways with polite comments, wishing each other some good futures. Hajime re-shoulders his gym bag, and walks with head held strong in the direction of his new gymnasium.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 17 : (????) They call it 'Damocles'. 「間違い探しゲーム」


	17. Match Point (間違い探しゲーム)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Match Point (Spot the difference game)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100k get !  
> Thank-you for your continued patronage ☼

 

 

You know the feeling when you've got a chance, a shot at the top, an even bigger challenge at the other end waiting to fight? You have this team with you and they're the best. Together you feel unstoppable ...

Take the unstoppable force and kill it.

Shōyō breathes out and his breath bounces off the volleyball, onto his nose.

Kill it like a kill block on the other side of a tall, tall wall.

"I can't see it," he mutters.

The other side of the wall. This endless expanse. The sun.

Tsukishima's voice plays in his head: _Looks like_ **_somebody_** _expects to see the great outdoors from their room._

"Nī-chan!"

Surprised, Shōyō squawks. Natsu's in his doorway and there's nothing.

Daichi's voice now, helping with homework: _Finish your sentences before moving to the next one._

"Nī-chan!" yells Natsu from the doorway again.

Okay.

The volleyball in Shōyō's grip goes up to shield his eyes. "Put some pants on!"

Natsu isn't impressed by this topic change. She huffs and puffs and puts her hands on her hips.

"Today I am wearing a skirt."

Shōyō doesn't think there's any difference between not wearing a skirt and not wearing any pants, it's a whole load of nothingness and just skin either way, but he's been an older brother long enough that he knows there's no point saying something like that. When she isn't glaring at him, he rolls his eyes.

"This is a pants only zone," says Shōyō, invoking the powers from being lord of his room.

She says back, with little sister talents, "You're not wearing any pants."

Shōyō figures she'll be pretty great someday.

"Shorts are short pants."

"What about skirts?"

Shōyō thinks for a moment. "Boys don't wear skirts." Then you know the look when someone's cheeks rise, their eyes squish up, they're about to either start screaming or crying? The wibble in Natsu's lips start to make that look. Shōyō's been an older brother long enough to know when that look is bad business. "But you can come in if you wear a skirt."

"O- _kay,_ " Natsu agrees. "So have you seen my ribbon?"

"The white ones?"

_"Mnhmm!"_

Just as Shōyō is about to respond with a "Nope," their mother appears in the doorway to his room, hands full of Natsu's skirt and the missing white ribbon hair tie. Yessss. Kā-san's the best. Natsu thinks so too, starting to bounce around. Patiently their mother fiddles with putting the second pigtail in Natsu's hair. Natsu shimmies through the skirt and tugs the elastic up to her stomach.

Suddenly, Shōyō remembers aggressive lips, and a thought that kissing's kinda not what big deal everyone makes it being. The feeling of hands pressing down against his waist; so **these** are a setter's hands. They're the sorts of hands which give all the best tosses, those fingers long and powerful, like fireworks when fanned out. A King of the Court. That one time Tōru-san spiked - Shōyō remembers that. Tōru-san is surprising. Tōru-san is incredible.

Tōru-san kisses him. Random.

 _Yeah,_ Shōyō thinks, while looking at the skirt. There's a bunch of things he knows that boys aren't meant to do.

Natsu bounds back to her room, yelling about her bag, cheery. It makes Shōyō decide it's no good, still sitting, so he gets up from his bed. A small arc of stiffness above his hips is ignored. He cycles a dozen kilometres to and from school every day. Stiffness is nothing now.

This is when Shōyō realises how his mother seems to be waiting for him.

He tugs down his shirt away from his shoulders where they all tangled up. "Kā-san?"

His mother's stare is weird. "Indoors today?" she asks.

Shōyō nods. He didn't get home last night. A feeling says for him to stay inside because he got home to worried parents that refused to go to sleep. He's going along with that feeling. His mother doesn't deserve to worry.

Stay inside so she'll let him go out next time. So she doesn't worry.

"Really ..." she says. She goes quiet, thinking. "You ... haven't involved yourself with some bad business, have you?"

"Eh?"

The weird stare is still there. She glances out and then in again.

"I've been hearing talk of the volleyball club being a gathering spot for punks," his mother continues, once the delay passes. "One of your players was injured the night before the finals, you came right back and it's not dark, yet, and you didn't call us to say you'd be staying out last night ..."

Oh. Shōyō knows what 'bad business' means. It means gangs and shady dealings in darkened alleyways and hush money and lots of hiding to avoid bad consequences if certain agreements go certainly not according to plan.

 _Okay_ , thinks Shōyō, then he realises it means his mother's starting to worry it's not safe playing volleyball. Panic arrives, seizing up his throat.

"Kageyama wasn't beaten up," says Shōyō, with more haste than he intends. Blink -- breathe. "He stressed his ankle because he was going too hard. So now it's swollen, and the only people who know much of anything are Coach and Sensei, he doesn't want to see anyone else," his mother still has her brows tilted worriedly, still not reassured, "There were some problems early this year 'cuz of stuff but they're gone now, everything's normal, we're the team we used to be," she's given up on him getting any job that's not some sort of manual labour and he feels bad for coming home with thirty percent on his tests, she doesn't say anything, she knows he spends class time sleeping, "We could have done better. We _should_ have done better. I ... I ..."

A set of arms suddenly wrap around his shoulders. His mother puts their faces close together, her cheeks wet. Shōyō swallows and blinks, and, oh.

... Oh.

He's the one of them crying.

"Shōyō," she says, without reproach.

It's too much. She can't do this. Not now, when Natsu's there. Natsu's yelling again, far away, something about leaving. She's going to be back if nobody answers her. His mother's allowed to see his tears even though he's a guy. There's no way that Natsu can.

Shōyō tries to hold his breath but all he does is press his face closer.

"The finals sucked," he mumbles into the side of her throat.

A hand faintly begins stroking his hair. "I see."

"I want to play. I want to go to Nationals again."

"You still have next year."

" _One_ year," says Shōyō. Anyone who wants to say his Yukigaoka years should have gotten him used to failure is lying to themselves. "It's not ..." _fair._

"Mmnn."

"I want to ..." he breathes, "I want to have ..."

Feathery brown. (Yellow, the colour of Yachi-san's hair; a flash of silver; the memory of small glass bottles.) Something brown falling down.

In place, Shōyō stops. Stares. Several seconds. Past his mother's shoulder, staring ... at nothing.

At a lock of hair, falling.

There's something in his chest. He doesn't know what.

Asahi's voice: _Hinata, you ... really like volleyball._

Scissors --

"Shōyō?"

His mother's voice, confused, shocks the thought train off its train tracks. Shōyō realises he's pushed her out and let her go.

What was that? _I want to have._ There's only one reason for that. One source.

When stuck, _go to the source._

"Where are you going?" asks his mother.

"Sendai," he says.

"Ehh?" Her head moves in search of a clock. "It's already --"

"If I'm not back for dinner, don't wait for me, 'kay?"

He grabs his things. There are his keys. Everything is hot and everything is on fire. The dragon burning up his veins isn't hesitating, and his heartbeat is rushing at a million times normal speed. Like this, it's like he doesn't waste any energy breathing. Doesn't spend any effort blinking. The world is sharper than ever and moving is like stepping out of himself and crossing dimensions, because to his eyes, everything has melded into perfect 2D.

Natsu's yelling gets closer, clearer, something about being late for dance lessons.

His mother gazes at him with weird worry, and. She should be taking Natsu with her right now.

Shōyō doesn't like that she's staying instead of doing that.

"I really gotta go, Kā-san," he says, hoping it's reassuring. "There's something I forgot to do yesterday."

"But --"

She doesn't want him to go. It's like she knows that something will happen.

She shouldn't be worrying. Nothing's going to happen.

Shōyō decides wearing sandals are fine and doesn't go to grab some socks. He runs out, yelling back at the last moment, not stopping to consider he should or not:

"I love you!"

The door closes behind him.

 

 

 

 

It's unusual for Kageyama to be late. Maybe to class. Not to a volleyball game. Not the Finals. They all crowded around the gymnasium doors, waiting for the late ones, rubbing hands and hopping to ward off the slight chill of early morning. And then everyone was there, all arrived, aside the captains and the adults who'd drive them to the grand Spring Tournament hall --

Who appeared with Captain Ennoshita and Vice Captain Tanaka, expressions hard and glum.

Ennoshita looked to Tanaka and missed meeting their gazes. He's a fraction late. Tanaka'd stepped forwards already.

Everyone falls silent because if Tanaka thought it was his job to deliver the news, then, there's no doubt about it. It's going to be --

"We're not going."

\-- disappointing news.

_"What?!"_

Everyone yelled. Shōyō yelled. Maybe shouted. It was all noise and disappointment and _this is a dream you're not funny, you're joking_.

You know; so much emotion, you keep it for later.

He kept it for later.

Ennoshita stepped forwards, serious and frowning. His expression was so hard that everyone went quiet.

"With Kageyama." Ennoshita looked to everyone. "We're not going with Kageyama. He ..."

Tanaka finished it for him. "He injured himself."

A pressure grabbed Shōyō's chest, some worry, and above it all, something that made him lose focus of what the seniors were saying. He clenched his fists. Something like, _every school is infertile concrete._ We **have** to go to Nationals. Irritation and anger. Kageyama was a genius, and that was meant to make him **_better._** Better than Shōyō, who knew his declaration of being Kageyama's rival was nothing, would be nothing, until he learned more.

Kageyama _knew_ that Shōyō was chasing him.

Shōyō glimpsed Tsukishima above the crowd, without consciously quite meaning to. Tsukishima was in the middle of pretending he was facing the Captains, but his gaze wasn't there. Tsukishima was listening to the talking and pretending to look but paying attention to something else ...

Paying attention to the part of dirt where Kageyama would practice serving outside when he came early and the gym wasn't open.

Tsukishima's voice said, in Shōyō's head, not aloud: _He tripped over his own feet._

Oh, Shōyō thought.

"How bad is it?" Shōyō asked.

Ennoshita answered. "He'll need crutches."

Shōyō grimaced. A result he wouldn't wish on anybody. His gut curled and furled, guilty for blaming Kageyama for something that had to be an accident. Had to be -- Kageyama wouldn't turn a game down. And now the captains had to say that they ...

Oh. A certain detail surfaced in Shōyō's brain.

"We're still going," he repeated, slowly.

"But Kageyama-senpai ..." one of the first-years blurted.

"He'll heal," Shōyō told him. It wasn't the first-year's fault he didn't know Kageyama for long, Shōyō didn't mind explaining. "Kageyama is Kageyama and won't let anything like that stop him."

"Shōyō's right!" Nishinoya blazed through the space, hurtling to the front of the crowd. "We're a man down but still a team strong. He'll get back, and we'll play with us in the Nationals!"

The younger of the first-year Fujihara twins, Sei, appeared to take that outburst as permission for his own.

"That's confident," Sei remarked.

Nishinoya nodded. "'Course! You think I'll let any balls touch the floor?"

"We're here, too," Tanaka informed, snapping his wrist to gesture to the other third-years.

"Me too!" Shōyō yelled.

Yamaguchi was next to add his support, followed by Yachi's affirmative soft and sweet, then somehow those two managed to convince Tsukishima to adding his input in. Ennoshita remarked in a casual voice about when and how Tanaka was appointed representative of all the third-years when _he_ was Captain, thank-you, and through the light-hearted ribbing, everyone else chimed their support.

Then the only ones left to say anything were both Fujiharas.

The older Fujihara shook and swallowed.

"M- me, too," he stammered. "I want to play. I won't say no to playing more."

All the eyes turned to Sei, the last one. Sei frowned.

"I'm not going."

Noya hopped forward, clasping one of Sei's shoulders. "You're kidding, right? Haha. You're the last setter. It's up to you, my man."

"If it's up to me," Sei said, "then we'll have to withdraw."

_Withdraw._

Shōyō didn't hear that right.

More than one glance was sent to the Captains, looking for confirmation. Shōyō felt Tanaka's jaw clench.

 _"Sei!"_ said his twin. "You _have_ to! You're the last setter! Otherwise --"

"I won't do it. I don't have that right." Sei shook his head. "It would be worse for Kageyama-san if I did play. I'm a failure of an assist. Kageyama-san is so talented, he can do what I can drunk on his feet. Knowing someone like me is playing in the finals, against the next best school -- that would be embarrassing."

Something rushed through Shōyō, angry. "Kageyama's not like that."

"There's TV cameras, right? Then you can think that I don't want to be filmed tripping over."

 _That's wrong,_ Shōyō bit back. Judging by the way that Tsukishima snorted a little way away, he totally agreed. Sei couldn't trip over his feet because in kendo, you couldn't cross one foot in front of the other, and Sei still hadn't gotten over that yet.

He didn't get a chance to say it since Tanaka's there already.

"Hey hey," said Tanaka, "it'd be good if you didn't assume things about your teammates ... _capiche?"_

Ennoshita put a hand on the bald head and obviously threatened to start rubbing it.

"Oi."

It's Nishinoya who talked next, but.

"Don't bullshit us." Nishinoya slid closer, until he was in front of Sei. The year had been good to Nishinoya's height, inching him past Shōyō, but he was still looking upwards because Sei was half a fraction taller. "I want to know if you're serious." Sei opened his mouth and Noya cut him off. "This is our last year, you know? The last chance. ... And you don't have a good reason to stop, like Asahi-san."

"We'll lose," said Sei.

"So what?" Noya tensed. A hand curled into a fist. "So _what?_ You're going to let something like _talent_ stop you from playing? Listen here, okay." He stomped a few steps back. One hand jabbed two fingers at Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. The other hand swiped the air, gesturing to Ennoshita and the other third-years which hadn't spoken. "Forget talent! These guys, they started out with nothing --"

"Excuse me," Tsukishima muttered, walking away from the finger.

"-- and yeah, we've been a whole mess this year, I failed at being reliable, and the only reason Chikara's kōhai agreed to help us add numbers was if he got to be in the starting lineup --"

 _"Noya!"_ Ennoshita hissed.

The other third-years exchanged glances and started moving around him, hovering a bit threateningly.

Shōyō got the sense that they weren't supposed to know that.

"... but!" Noya pointed at Sei. "Chikara is _the shit._ You got that? So you're damn well selfish to think it's all about you, and letting us down, because --"

"You're not the only one on the volleyball court!"

The last part was a chorus. All the other third-years weren't being threatening, they got into position like a semi-circle around Ennoshita. They all shouted it as one like it was all planned somehow.

"Just because you're captain doesn't mean we'll let you off easy," Narita said, and Kinoshita nodded.

Several similar-sounding declarations followed, leaving Ennoshita still and rigid and standing stunned.

As they crowed, Shōyō saw Tsukishima turning his head, and so Shōyō started tracking his vision in an instant. It's kinda instinct by now. Shōyō knew Tsukishima's observations were awesome, so he found himself looking at Sei. Yamaguchi copied him one heartbeat later like _don't forget about me._

Sei watched the third-years making their exchange and his face stayed the same.

"That's good, and easy, for you to say," Sei began, "but, understand this -- and accept that I'm not going."

Shōyō didn't blink in the new space, the space that wondered where Daichi-san and Asahi-san and Suga-san were. Nothing like this had ever happened whilst they were still around. But then, Shōyō figured that maybe he was wrong about Karasuno becoming the same team again. Shōyō, who knew that removing of ' _the source of Kageyama's problems'_ would make Kageyama better, make everything could go back to normal ... couldn't tell why everything seemed stuck...

Ukai interrupted, saying, "I want a word."

Sei hesitated. They walked outside. Everyone's eyes watched them. You know.

Shōyō had to find the answer. Shōyō needed to know what he needed to do to get stronger, nobody waits for you when you're down, get the team at maximum performance again.

Shōyō licked his lips. He's still not good enough. Not enough.

Shōyō watched them go.

 

 

 

 

Keishin's fingers twitched in a way that had nothing to do with tossing volleyballs.

Keishin wanted a smoke.

He walked around the gymnasium, past the taps, to the other side. Sei followed, dutiful, since Keishin's the coach, and Keishin was meant to be responsible for this mess of a motley crew.

No smokes for him.

God. The sun was only starting to come out and the clouds looked like smoke against the deep. The two of them headed for a spot around the corner and out of sight. Their arrival came much too quickly.

Keishin scratched his hair and picked a random place to begin.

"Fujihara." Yeah, that's a start. "Sei. What's up?"

"Nothing, sir."

Keishin _looked._ Sei: bright-eyed and stubborn-jawed. Keishin doesn't believe it for a second.

"Don't give me that," said Keishin.

Sei doesn't shrug or do anything disrespectful, which isn't surprising. Keishin's his superior.

"Pardon me," said Sei.

With that very helpful apology, Keishin now had to find some way of bailing out the capsized mess of this year's boys' volleyball team. All of it - all of this drama and garbage - it's everything he feared last year, when Sensei'd constantly stalked him and pestered him into becoming coach, all up until Karasuno managed to prove him wrong. They hadn't been a bunch of brats with more ego than ability --

"I apologise for being a brat, sir."

Keishin stopped muttering.

"Got a sharp tongue in that mouth of yours," he remarked.

Sei stayed silent, knowing the rhetorical for what it was. It was almost disappointing.

"Okay," said Keishin. Enough - of everything. "What's the real reason you don't want to play?"

"I've already said my reasons."

"Is it nerves, kid? Everyone gets nerves --"

"It's not nerves," Sei responded. "I understand that it must be a disappointment, with someone as amazing as Kageyama-san gone. There are other first-years who have played as Setter before --"

"Can't." That was the first thing Keishin thought of. "They haven't practiced with our spikers, like you have."

"That's unfortunate."

If Keishin had a smoke in his mouth, he would have bitten the thing into two. But Keishin didn't, so he contended himself with sharply clicking his teeth and narrowing his eyes.

Keishin imagined himself taking a step back. He looked at Fujihara Seiichi. If someone with his build was on the team of an opponent, Keishin would have said he spent too much time lifting and not enough time on anything else. He would have thought that Karasuno would have the advantage if they went hard and fast, prevented the opponent adapting to their rhythm, or if it became a battle of endurance because _god knows_ what Karasuno are doing when Keishin isn't taking time off to be there. The ability for them to continue training whatever Keishin pushed them through despite arriving late earlier in the year, the hours they did -- they're so ridiculous that Keishin decided, _hell_ , they've dedicated their lives.

Which came back to the current dilemma: what to do with this setter who doesn't want to play.

Keishin levelled his hardest stare. "No one wants a starter that skips games."

"I'm not good enough to be a starter, sir."

"You think I'm teaching you to be a benchwarmer forever?"

"No, sir."

"You're out."

"... What?" Sei croaked.

Keishin scowled. "Get outta here. I'm not going to tolerate any more disunity on our court."

In a jerky movement, Sei's arms flew upwards as if he were stepping back. A choking noise escaped his throat.

"But, sir ...!"

"Go back to the kendo team or what-have-you --"

"I _can't!"_

Sei gaped, surprised at his own outburst, his eyes blank and large. They're not ubiquitous black, like they appear from a distance, in reality a dark, muddy brown, the same as his hair. They darted around in a panic that didn't quite fit on his face. He resembled a bug-eyed alien with slits for a nose more than a young man.

After a few moments, Sei finally seemed to realise that Keishin was waiting for a defence of himself or some sort of spark, something which Keishin could use to encourage him, or any signs that he wanted to give up entirely. Sei closed his eyes, visibly locking his shoulders in an effort to calm down. Instead, his arms started shaking.

"I can't," repeated Sei. "I won't go back. I'm staying here."

"So?" Keishin prompted.

"So?" Sei echoed.

"You gonna play, or what?"

Sei hesitated. "I ..."

There was a muffled sound. The older twin stepped into view from around the corner.

"... Sei."

Fujihara Yūsuke glanced around. His eyes made contact with Keishin's.

Normally looking-like-he'll-wet-his-pants Fujihara caught himself mid-flinch, then, turned to determinedly look at Sei.

"Sei, I ... I- it's because of me, my selfishness, you're forced to be here, b- but," Fujihara clasped his hands together and fell into a bow, "p- please ... please play."

Sei looked between Keishin and his brother, saying nothing.

"Sei ..." Fujihara took another breath. "He won't hate you. Edogawa-senpai won't ..."

Sei shook his head. "You can't know that, Suke-nī."

" _You_ keep rejecting Karasuno, Sei. I know ... you'd rather be in Kesenuma, but, we're here, now. At Karasuno. And I -- _I_ want to be here."

"Suke-nī --"

Fujihara took a deep breath. He slammed one of his hands into his chest and made a gasp that sounded like he had difficulty breathing. That was when Keishin understood why the elder twin looked as if he were constantly about to keel over. It was identical to what players did before matches, before time for them to serve. The paleness was Fujihara Yūsuke's way of psyching himself up.

"We - watched the finals together, last year, remember?" Fujihara asked. "I. I'm. I want to do that, with them. I'm _going_ to do that with them. Nobody would have thought that they'd win! So -- _you can't just give up trying!"_

Keishin spotted the fire deep in his eyes, and decided: _He's a keeper._

Meanwhile, Sei took the end of his brother's rant to shove him in the chest. Fujihara spotted this, curled his hands into fists, and dove forwards at the same time. They would have succeeded were it not for Keishin. A force of what Keishin would later guess as fifty kilos barrelled into him.

"Oi!" Keishin said, pushing the brawling teenagers off of him. "I don't want a bunch of wannabe wrestlers in this _team._ "

Fujihara opened his mouth.

"You're staying," said Keishin.

Mumbling, Fujihara looked down.

A quick glance at his watch, and Keishin was suddenly very eager to get out of there.

"I don't care why you're arguing," Keishin told them. "Not when we're going to be late. All I want from you -- both of you -- is an answer."

Carefully, he made sure to look between them.

"Are you going? Or are you going _home?"_

 

 

 

 

Takeda clapped Keishin's back while climbing the steps up into the bus, then swung around before dropping into the driver's seat.

"Good job," Takeda told him.

The bus coughed around them as the engine started up. Keishin knew that he looked confused. He could feel it in his brows. "Hah?"

"It was the good choice.”

"An' yer doing a great job sounding like gramps."

Takeda didn't laugh, but his mouth pulled into the corners of that smile which Keishin thought happened to mean _You're not right, but you're catching on._

It was always a strange feeling that this was how Keishin would be reminded that Takeda Ittetsu was a little more respected than him. He was more senior and in the other end of their specific generation. That smile and the occasional off-hand remark suggested all the years of experience that Takeda had dealing with teenagers, compared to Keishin, who spent his time stuck at the store. And a weird flashback liked popping up every now and then of his second-year homeroom teacher’s reaction whenever he showed up with a different style ofhair. _"Someone here has an ego that doesn't want to go unnoticed."_

The way Takeda's head turned slightly as they left the school behind made Keishin think he'd been mumbling his thoughts aloud again.

Shooting a glance at the back of the bus, Keishin saw Karasuno's volleyball club thrumming, dark and grim. Ennoshita's crease of worry was back, despite having disappeared at the earlier display of faith, as if it was so used to sitting there that it didn't want to go. Tanaka sat silently with his eyes closed in meditation. Everyone else was in varying states of concern or trying to discuss last-minute tactics with their neighbours, and on one side ...

Hinata leaned forward in his seat to talk with Sei.

Just looking at the side of Sei's face, or what's visible of it with the younger Fujihara turned around, Keishin felt the beginnings of a migraine.

"Yeah," said Keishin as he twisted to face the front. "Should have kicked him."

"Fujihara-kun?" asked Takeda. "The younger?"

"The same."

Takeda made a non-committal noise. The bus tilted slightly as he swerved to avoid an uneven part of ground.

"I don't think you would have, Ukai-kun."

The words have that twinge to them that reminds Keishin of his second-year homeroom teacher _again._

"What?" said Keishin.

Takeda shrugged. "Even after the team-splitting effect that Tajiri-kun had on everyone, you couldn't do it. Not until most of the team went against him, speaking out against the recommendation from their captain."

"Sei doesn't like volleyball," Keishin snapped.

To his dismay, the words manifested with more bite than intended, like so many things he'd said to his players that year.

Takeda seemed to understand that he wasn't trying to be angry on purpose, and dissuaded the anger from setting root with an absent wave of a hand.

"Now, now, I apologise. I don't mean to strike offence." Takeda knew he thought that Tajiri Takeshi genuinely enjoyed being on the court, despite all his erraticness and inability to commit to one team, having weedled the information out of Keishin himself. "However, I have told you before that the team's performance is not a reflection of how you handle responsibility. It's not a failure by you. And ... "

"And?"

"Well," Takeda replied, slow and steady, "you do have trouble being genuinely harsh to those who, liking volleyball or not, are true to themselves."

 _What do you mean_ , Keishin opened his mouth to ask, and ... stopped.

Back in the day, gramps would give a lot of advice that Teenage Keishin only listened to with half an ear. In Keishin's defence, a lot of them had been impromptu with crappy lead-in.

 _"He can't forget what it's like to be a player,"_ had been a particularly vague lead-in once. Teenage Keishin had been on his way out, so he stared blankly, wondering how this mattered to him. Ukai Ikkei noticed and grinned from where he stood next to the telephone set, waving Keishin away. _"If you become a coach, you'd best not forget what the court is like! But your feelings are different to your players', so don't let 'em get in the way."_

Well --

A particularly nasty jolt sent Keishin yelping into his seatbelt. There was a car which had cut in front of them. Takeda pushed his glasses back up his nose and fumbled his apologies about the braking.

 _"Really_ creepy how you prompt people into things," said Keishin, attempting to maintain what's left of his image.

A small smile appeared on Takeda’s face. "Ha ha. Sorry."

Beyond the windows, as they moved further into the city, one of the first-year members in the back shouted that they could see the building. That one word caused a mass movement of bodies, eager to return to the hall they'd left yesterday in the top two.

Keishin glanced back to see the Fujihara twins talking to one another despite whatever had passed, and a spark returned to Sei's demeanour again. The noise was encouraging.

Kageyama there or not, Karasuno was still pumped and ready to take on the world.

Under his breath, Keishin sighed, because it was still the coach's job to consider reality.

"Wonder what we can do with the rest of this year, huh."

 

 

 

 

"We lost," Yachi says, in a voice little and sad and small.

It's after she showed up and stammered _hello,_ she asked around for his contact details and Igota who lived in Tobio's neighbourhood gave it to her, that's why she's shown up here. His mother then directed her to where he was, not asking him first. Tobio doesn't want to see anyone but doesn't resent that too greatly. Yachi-san is someone who ...

Who ...

It's hard to say no to Yachi-san.

Tobio tries to nod. Karasuno losing isn't a surprise. He ends up closing his eyes and letting his head fall.

Tobio hears: silence, and the sound of his own breathing.

Yachi realises he's not gonna talk so she keeps going.

"A- actually, we were looking close to -- withdrawing? For a while. Sei really ... looks up to you, he didn't want to take your place, s- so, I'm sorry that we did force him to and still lost anyway, I hope ... is your ankle okay? We didn't hear much about it other than you'll need crutches for a while and --"

"Yachi-san ..." Tobio hits the thickness in his chest and Tobio forces himself to slow down some. Like fighting against that urge to go faster, make a game flow _faster._ People talk about his rudeness and his language behind his ears like his hearing isn't coned or anything and Tobio doesn't want ... Yachi in that. "You ... Thank-you for -- Please ..."

"Ah!" She jumps and yelps. "I understand. Okay, Kageyama-kun."

It's weird how she gets that much from absolutely nothing. But if there's any social skills Tobio worked out from being near an Oikawa-san who's always being looked at by girls it's how much a guy needs to say to them so they're happy and gonna leave you alone. When to stop saying more.

Tobio peeks one of his eyes open when it sounds like Yachi-san is grabbing all her stuff. She has a tiny smile.

Tobio likes her smiles. Everyone in the volleyball club does.

Tobio shoves his eye closed when she starts turning around.

"Don't freak out," Yachi says, really quiet. Could be nerves or something he shouldn't hear. Tobio keeps his mouth shut before he says something shitty. He doesn't wanna ruin it 'cause it's like, Yachi, saying it. Not somebody like Kindaichi.

"Bye, Kageyama-kun."

Tobio grunts back and she's gone.

Tobio smells: air, and freshly cleaned sheets around him.

Longing punches him in the chest, his fingers tense over soft fabric that gives way too easy, and it's weird. He's never been a sitting-in-bed sort of person. He wants that comforting roundness under his fingertips, misses his volleyball. Earlier he threw it into his school stuff and he hasn't asked anyone to help get it for him.

Prodigy. Everyone says it. He feels the instincts rising, the ones that help him with how and when to block. But there's nothing to block. The world is gold washed yellow snapping dark like lights brightened and brightened until broken-fuse black. His head is dim and crowded. His brain beats and beats against the back of his eyeballs, lighting up those flares that appear from pushing on eyes for too long,

make it stop.

Tobio feels: a pulsing in the distance, like on the other side of a cliff with nothing in the middle. The bandages are itchy. His foot is up on a pile of pillows. Each breath is like pulling weights at the other end of an invisible cord running from lungs to shoulders and thighs.

Muscular strain. Remedy with proper warm-up. Do a proper cool down.

Tobio sees: A splash of broad shoulders and brown hair lit by stupid sunshine somehow still always casting Tobio an extra shadow. The rays reach past him, reaching farther,

Tobio can never stop.

Tobio hates this. Hates how Hinata has become his comparison point, when it became obvious he would no longer face Oikawa Tōru across the court. There shouldn't be anything to Hinata because what has he done that the rest of their team has not? He's gotten close to everyone who Tobio admires. Kozume. Bokuto. Even Oikawa, who's always friendly, but doesn't seem to have any friends aside from Iwaizumi.

What has he done except being exceptional.

And he's friends with Tobio, too,

the first person that's seen him as a volleyball rival and for some reason okay with sharing more.

Tobio can see the court how others can't. Except when his eyes are closed. It's pretty simple -- if you look at nothing then there's nothing to compare yourself to. Then you'll never think you've failed; you'd always think that 'volleyball is fun', and, 'the world is round so volleyball is the world.'

The disappointment in Tobio's heart stretches out like it can get his eyes to open, and Tobio ...

... Tobio sees the end of his bed and leg and next to it, a small card decorated with drawings of paper cranes that Yachi must have left, must have put. She worried for him, his over-exertion. Tobio knows stopping is okay. Even Oikawa-san who spent longer training than anyone else at Kitagawa-daiichi started to take breaks.

He reaches out and grabs the card, stuffs it under his pillow. It would be embarrassing if somebody saw it. He still hadn't ... gotten to asking her to be friends yet. It's not as easy as Hinata makes it appear. Dumbass.

Tobio's eyes close when he thinks of orange hair again.

_What Tobio hates the most:_

Thinking about volleyball where everything comes back to him failing.

 

 

 

 

Tōru wakes up to a loud banging noise and realises half a minute later that the front door is trying to open when the chain lock would prefer it closed.

A yelling follows.

The words are garbage when there's at least three walls between them, but Tōru would recognise that voice and its sussurant edges anywhere.

His phone rings from atop the table. Disgusting. Tōru decides he needs to change his ringtone.

(Music goes out of fashion so quickly.)

The door stops banging. Another shout carries from outside. He can't avoid this, it's saying.

"Shut up," mutters Tōru.

He rolls out of his futon into an ungraceful lump and heads out. One hand runs through his hair. The other thumb wipes against the corners of his eyes and mouth; eliminating any marks sleep left behind. Pants are found near the kitchen, and he tugs them on. He rolls his shoulders and pushes everything back.

Then he smiles, buttercups and rosemary, and opens the door.

"It's you," says Tōru. His voice is full of surprise.

Try as he will to hide it, it doesn't matter. Oikawa Saki knows exactly that he's just gotten out of bed, because she says:

"Up early today, Tō-tō."

He doesn't need the clock to say 16:41 to know that she's never failed at seeing through him.

Something rises in his chest, demanding itself be known. " _Aneki_ ..."

She raises an eyebrow.

Tōru rips apart whatever it is, whatever that serpentine feeling is in his mind, and corrects himself. Sublime.

"It's normal to sleep in on a day off, Saki-nē."

Remark said, Tōru pushes the door open wider to let her in. He notes the size of her luggage. It's small, so she's travelling for at most a week and a half. She accepts the invitation to enter and her loose-flowing shirt billows as she walks. Her hands move confidently to the cupboard for the slippers, and she removes her small heels.

"What are you doing here?" Tōru asks. "Weren't you s'posed to meet Kā-chan in Sapporo?"

"Aye." Saki nods. "As I'm going through here, she asked me to pick up her phone. And how could I turn down a chance to visit my favourite baby brother?"

Tōru rolls his eyes. "I'm your favourite now?" They don't have any other siblings.

With a confident nod, her suitcase wheeled to one side of the hallway, Saki makes her way deeper into the house. "You always were."

"Dunno what your husband sees in you," Tōru mutters, and follows.

There's no reason why Tōru watches her as she looks over the house, not particularly. She ignores the stairs and moves between the rooms on the lower floor like she's drifting, this ethereal form too good for the rest of humanity. The dining has a considerate glance and the tatami room receives a soft 'hmm'. She pauses at the sight of their laundry being dried, languishing atop frames and furniture, and her eyes linger on the collection of towels for some time. Tōru, who doesn't believe in leaving things for later, who sees little difference between 'leaving something' and 'never achieving anything', had stayed up to clean them out last night. There's a reason that hydrogen peroxide is one of his kindest friends.

Tōru wonders if his sister has any idea what he's always left to clean.

"You should be in Tōkyō," she says, once she's deemed the house to be in good condition, that Tōru has not somehow destroyed it in one night, and drops her purse on a counter before going towards the refrigerator.

Tōru shrugs. "Missed the bus."

The sound of glass tinkling against glass is the sound his sister makes in her inspection from behind the refrigerator door.

"Yes, you did."

 _That,_ thinks Tōru, that tone of hers. That combination of compassion and shortness and simplicity, like it's accusing him of something-or-other; this subterfuge which refused to face him directly. There's nothing else he hates more.

She rises and closes the door. "Hajime-kun was expecting you."

"Was he," says Tōru, bland as bland can be.

"He was." Her hands go up, unravelling her scarf. "I bumped into him on the way to the train station. He had a gym bag, looking like he wanted to play volleyball."

Tōru knows how this goes. It's a lead-up to what she's really after, nothing more. There's a fifty percent chance she'll ask him about Hajime, or a fifty percent chance that she'll start to go on about him and volleyball. It's with one hundred percent certainty that Tōru knows she'll stop with that shitty-ass nickname and switch to using his real name.

Oikawa Saki brushes past him, reaches near her purse, and drops her scarf to one of its sides.

"You should treat him better, Tōru."

Ka-ching. As usual.

"Saki-nē --"

Tōru breaks off when she turns around.

"It's like that time you asked me to buy lilies, and then," her shoulders tense, "I find out that Hajime's been crying. Because they found his cat dead from poisoning."

(Would be nice if she weren't born with brown eyes.)

"You make it a bigger deal than Iwa-chan does," he tells her.

"And you still haven't confessed to it," is her disappointed response. "Today he was hoping he'd see you. If he's really your friend, Tōru, you should treat him better."

Personal attack. Change of subject. Syllogistic fallacy.

"If he's honestly going to believe what I say over social media instead of in person --"

"You haven’t seen him for months, you can't blame him."

"It's never come up," Tōru insists, and adopts his most earnest expression. "I'll tell him eventually --"

"Or I will."

He doesn't need the coldness in her words to know that, while she may wear a guise of kindness and generosity, she's never failed at blackmailing him.

"When is eventually, Tō-tō?" she asks, brown eyes shining. "You've been saying that for years already. If I didn't think you were being endearing, back then -- if I didn't think of taking a photo of it, I wonder if you'd still be promising me with those sorts of words."

"He doesn't care any more," Tōru points out. Iwaizumi hasn't mentioned anything like it and stopped reacting to cats since sixth grade. "You don't need to worry."

"I'm worried that you're not being honest to someone you should be honest to."

Tōru flinches. He rubs his lower lip with the side of one hand, shaking.

"L- look, nē-san," he starts, discarding _fuck you_ so it wouldn't fall into whatever he was saying, "You're so _perfect_. You're stupidly successful, crazy blunt, you've always had everything. Good grades, pretty face, the skill to juggle a dozen fucking things at a fucking time --"

The set of arms that go around him smell like orange leaves.

"Tōru," says Saki. "There's no need to be nervous."

 _"Nervous?"_ Tōru shrills.

"Tell him," she insists.

"I _can't."_

"You can be honest."

"I --" Tōru shakes his head. He pulls away, trying to run a hand through his fringe, to better settle it over his brow, when he finds it ending into nothing. The memory of a certain someone thinking they could ambush him threatens to make his heart race. His lips flatten before he catches himself.

He takes a breath and releases it as an irritated sigh.

"I need more time," Tōru says. Tōru decides. "Please. I have to be the one who tells him, I _will,_ just ... not now. I can't now. Not over the phone, it's too impersonal."

"I understand."

Tōru's smile, when he sets it on her, is small and wavering. He looks downwards, reaching for her belongings, gesturing that he'll move them somewhere which wouldn't be so in-the-way.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" says Tōru.

She's watching him. "I will, my flight is in the evening." A pause, suspicious in its intentions. "Is there something wrong, Tōru?"

"Well, there's something ... I," Tōru shakes his head. "Nevermind. I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"I can't miss you?"

She gives him a look. "What is it?"

"..." Tōru hesitates. "I'm so popular, it's embarrassing."

 _"Embarrassed?"_ She's interested now. A thirst for gossip runs in their blood. "This is a first."

"Don't say it like that, Saki-nē."

Saki chuckles at the childish tone.

"So?" she asks. "What's gotten the great dragon alien Oikawa scared by his own shadow?"

Tōru takes a deep breath.

"I think I have a stalker."

As if it were cued, the doorbell rang.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 18 : (Oikawa, Hinata) Hinata's heart. 「心を徹する」


	18. Rule the Court (心を徹する)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule the Court (To enter* hearts)
> 
> * = Tōru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Saki to be voiced by someone such as Ogata Megumi ... in some universe with enough money.  
> Maybe you will find her interesting enough. Regardless , I will try not to linger on the original characters for too long.

 

 

It's Saki who sends a look towards Tōru first.

"Are you going to get that?" she asks.

Tōru doesn't move.

"It's him," he tells her.

The doorbell stops ringing.

It's a tiny respite. Tōru is given barely enough time to sigh when the doorbell rings again. He resists the urge to do more than that. Why must he be surrounded by people who only know how to spam the damn thing?

His sister begins heading for the door. Something spurs Tōru to overtake her and he opens it before she can.

On the other side, Hinata Shōyō's fist is raised and ready to start hammering.

"Tōru-sa --"

Tōru knows exactly which moment Shōyō realises he's not talking to Tōru alone; Shōyō's eyes bug out at the sight of this unknown woman, whose outer layers of clothing are in Tōru's arms. Tōru is in the middle of transporting them elsewhere.

Shōyō squawks and stands taller. His face goes red and his eyes dart around. "I -- I'm, err, Hinata Shōyō! Here to grab something!"

"Good afternoon, Hinata-kun," says Saki, walking closer. If Tōru wants to read her intentions from her, he's given nothing to work with. Her voice and body reveal nothing. "I'm Saki, this one's elder sister." She looks to Tōru. "I didn't know you made a new handsome friend."

Shōyō's spluttering in the background is exactly what Saki intends.

Tōru feels a migraine incoming and ignores her.

He looks to Shōyō. "I didn't know our relationship had progressed so far," he remarks. "It's -- what time is it?"

"Time?" Shōyō blinks. He rummages for his phone, which he flips open. "Five pm?"

"I didn't realise we've progressed to you inviting yourself over for dinner."

A warning hand rests gently on Tōru's elbow. Shōyō's gaze darts to it instantly. It doesn't move, even though Shōyō knows that Saki is his sister and Saki is not a possible target for romancing.

"My dear brother means breakfast," Saki offers.

Ah. Tōru _was_ having a very great extended nap not even an hour ago. He can also hear the edge of interest in her words, too, and it amplifies his migraine to the point where he can hear its existence with every breath he breathes. Saki is interested. If she is interested, then ...

"I'm not," says Shōyō. "Erm. Not here to eat. I wanted to -- errr. I forgot something."

"Tōru took it?"

"N- no! I left it here."

 _Idiot,_ thinks Tōru, because, he knows what's coming.

"Did you?" says Saki. "I haven't seen ..."

"Yes," Shōyō responds, "Yesterday. I forgot to take it home before getting to school this morning."

Of course Hinata Shōyō is incapable of retaining secret information. Secret information, such as the fact that he'd been a guest on a night when Tōru was supposed to be going to see Iwaizumi.

"Really?" Saki looks to Tōru. Tōru ignores her gaze and keeps his eyes focused on Shōyō. She saw the towels, so Tōru doesn't need to acknowledge any attempts at confirmation. She realises he's not planning to give her a reaction she's searching for, so she looks to Shōyō once more. "In that case, please, stay and eat with us. I can cook."

"Eh?" Shōyō gapes. _"Eeeehhhhhhh?"_

Saki gestures at the bicycle resting behind their gate. "Is that yours?" It isn't Tōru's, so, of course it is. "You've travelled so far to get here, making that trip worthwhile is the least we could offer. Come inside," and when his sister smiles, she's definitely a predator catching the scent of prey, "let us stop filling the doorway ..."

Because Shōyō is apparently not rude and does understand when it is futile to argue without becoming even more socially unacceptable, he steps up from the entryway and into the house itself. He follows Saki while she asks what it is that Shōyō does, he's still at high school is he, what year he's in ... Shōyō replies to each of her queries brightly and leaves Tōru to scowl at the door by his lonesome.

Tōru takes care his exhale is beneath his breath, then he heads for his earlier destination.

"-- No, no worry. I can't eat what Tōru calls 'food' from the boxed meals he likes all the time," he hears Saki saying.

"You look like a stick," Tōru retorts, "a little sodium isn't going to hurt you. Right, Shō-chan?"

"Sure?" says Shōyō.

'Shō?' Saki mouths, giving Tōru a raised-brow _look_.

Tōru makes a note that she hasn't heard Shōyō referring to him by his first name yet, and he shrugs. Then he raises the things he's still holding. "I'll put your stuff in the tatami room."

"Sure," she agrees.

Tōru goes to do that.

Shōyō keeps sending him little, half-thoughtful looks, whenever he thinks that Tōru isn't looking.

 

 

 

 

Dinner, as it happens, is an incredibly momentously awkward affair.

 _What the fuck,_ thinks Tōru, staring at this ... shrimp eating demonstration. Because it can't have been anything other than a demonstration. His sister, looking at the leftovers, announced that it would not be enough to feed all three of them, and found some shrimp his mother had wanted to cook before leaving. Then she boiled them.

Now there's a bowl of boiled shrimp.

Flat, orange, lying atop one another, disk-like, a mass of whiskers and legs and and bulging black eyes. And, in front of Tōru, Oikawa Saki meticulously takes them apart before she eats them; slim fingers hold the pincers firmly so the other hand can pull the shell off the back of the head's surface all at once. She eats the meat which was protected once. Only afterwards does she separate the body, prise off the exterior, then rip away the thin strip along the length of the spine to clean out the intestine.

And now the process is complete for one shrimp out of this ... pile of many.

Shōyō, who had been wrestling with some legs, did notice Tōru watching. Shōyō stopped his eating to join Tōru in watching how his sister liked showing off how clean her shrimp had to be before she considered devouring them down.

Tōru doesn't give enough fucks to care where she gets it from. He eats the other bamboo and radish dish. Shōyō must have decided that whatever Tōru's looking at is boring because he's gone back to randomly pulling off heads and chewing through the body.

Saki waves a groomed shrimp at Tōru, that irritating smile on her face again.

"Don't want any seafood, Tō-tō?" she asks.

Tōru scrunches his nose. "It's disgusting." He eyes the pile of discarded shells, tries not to think too closely about some of the oozing gloop. "How can you _eat_ that? You and that _dirt."_

"Dirt?" asks Shōyō, polishing off another shrimp, and Tōru cringes from knowing the digestive gunk is still there.

"Disgusting," says Tōru.

"But it tastes nice," Shōyō points out.

"That's the shit those bottom feeders _clean_." Tōru shakes his head. Totem pole, totem pole. "Look at how much shell you have to go through, too --"

Saki raises a finger. "The shells are edible."

"Really?"

Hinata bites into the head of one. Tōru cringes at the crunch of chitin, and tries not to imagine the shards going everywhere. It's not even deep-fried.

Slowly, Tōru's chopsticks are lowered. Then, finding space on the table for his elbows, he leans forwards and puts his head in his hands.

_Absolutely **disgusting.**_

It doesn't matter how long he sits like that. It can't have been long; Shōyō's asking Tōru if he's alright, if the tone of voice is anything to go by, and Shōyō's a literal bundle of energy who doesn't like to wait for answers. Tōru listens in when Saki answers, too. The distant sound of her saying his name prevents him from anything else.

How can he ignore it? This asshole of a sister is talking about him.

"... will only eat them if they're cleaned before cooking. Don't mind the dramatics. I'm sure that you will find he's always this way, Shōyō, he can get to be a troublemaker --"

"It's not about the shrimp, Saki-nē," Tōru says flatly. "It's dirt."

When Saki turns to look at Tōru, he knows he's being humoured. "Hm? So, you _will_ eat it if a chef decides to prepare it for you? All butterflied and washed and ready for the taking?"

"Duh," says Tōru. "It's a food chain thing." _Obviously._

Shōyō makes an understanding thinking noise. Tōru's heard the noise before and can't tell if Shōyō really understands what he's talking about. Then Shōyō leans closer and Tōru remembers the shock of a hand too close to his ear. Tōru feels a phantom tugging at his scalp, blades cutting through hair.

Tōru pulls back.

Yes - a shadow is missing over his vision whenever he moves his head around.

Tōru, mindful of his sister watching, continues leaning back as naturally as he can, and gives her a sneer. "Why're _you_ calling him Shōyō, now? I thought it was 'Hinata-kun'."

A loud crunching sound comes from Shōyō's direction. Tōru doesn't cringe. Really.

"Uwoah," says Shōyō. His lips are smeared with gunk. In his hands, the shrimp is held out. "Hey, I found the brain."

"Did you?" Saki looks. "Ah. No, that's the stomach, Shōyō."

Tōru rolls his eyes. "Stomachs for brains, my point is made."

"Tōru," his sister says, endlessly patient, "just eat the prawn."

_No, thank-you._

Tōru rises to his feet. His patience is gone.

"Toilet," he informs a questioning female glance, then leaves through one door.

When he's out of sight, his willpower is all that's left between his fist and slamming it into the wall.

Oikawa Saki's smile is so serene, he hates it. She smiles with the peace of the world and the knowledge that she's on top of it. This wisdom from effort she pretends is no effort. From nothing to everything, she's everything that Tōru hates. Just like all the promises that success will come if enough hard work is made.

He makes to touch his head but touches skin instead of hair. This time, when he's reminded of silver scissors, the almost-fearful skip of his heart escalates to a beating anger that comfortably pads his skin. Saki and Shōyō. Having them meet -- what an inconvenience. Whatever results from it ...

Yuck. Tōru heads for the room where their toilet is, then instead takes the door next to it with the sink and laundry. Disgusting, disgusting, _disgusting._

"Hey," says Iwaizumi, this spirit in white and teal. He's leaning against the washing machine, reflected in the mirror as Tōru opens the cupboard in the vanity. Tōru glances at him and wants to ask, _where have you been?_ Except he already knows the answer, which means that any shadow of Iwaizumi would never answer it for him.

"You're late," Tōru says instead.

Iwaizumi hides a smile at him because Tōru knows that Iwaizumi would translate it as _I was waiting for you._

Tōru's fingers flick through the cleaning products until he reaches the pack of disposable gloves. He grabs a pair. Iwaizumi leans aside when Tōru reaches for the red-handled scissors on the wall beside him, then Tōru lifts a glove to cut a rubber index finger off. The scissors are returned. Tōru puts the cut-out and the gloves into a pocket, and pats them down so they're hidden from view.

It's when he's closing the vanity that his attention is caught by the hydrogen peroxide. Suddenly self-conscious, he looks down to where his feet are lined up against the pattern of the laminate flooring. A chill brushes the side of one jaw. He looks at the sink and he's struck by the view.

Déjà vu.

Iwaizumi's spirit should have reminded him of some guilt. The truth is that Tōru doesn't remember last night. Shōyō cut off his hair, he saw red, and ...

Then he was seeing red on the surface of a towel. He was bleaching away bloodstains. The low-scent of hydrogen peroxide fumes swept around him.

Where he's standing now is the same location as he was this morning.

Tōru looks at the mirror.

Iwaizumi is gone.

He has some ideas. His body had felt fresh like he just showered. There was less lube left than he remembered, yet, the lip looked untouched. Maybe it was used. Maybe it was not. A scan of the premises had revealed the golden corona of Shōyō's hair was something that would shine in any amount of light - he was clean, if asleep, too, but his shirt had rode up and Tōru saw a series of red scratches along the side where his lower ribs were. Tōru felt the urge to scrub beneath his nails. The hair which Tōru lost had been cleaned up and his gifted glass jars were missing. Where the glass jars lay instead were the silver scissors.

Tōru then threw the scissors away.

With Iwaizumi gone, Tōru heads for the door. Tōru pauses. Take one last check that everything appears untouched. He sees the mirror.

There are golden eyes in the mirror.

Tōru looks at the mirror.

The golden eyes are gone.

"Kch," he hisses, to disperse the irritation. He puts his hand in his pocket and the springiness of the glove is reassuringly real against his skin. It's just anticipation. He's been planning his sister's return, for a while.

When she's travelling, Oikawa Saki has the habit of carrying around her phone in her hands, so she can check destination and departure times and use the GPS screen. That means that she has to put the phone down so that she may remove her jacket. Which in turn, means, her phone is with her belongings in the tatami room.

Tōru listens for the voices in the kitchen and dining that tell him his sister and Shōyō are still talking. Then he walks naturally towards the tatami room though no one can see him.

He ducks behind the door, puts the gloves on, then crouches so he's eye-level with his sister's phone's screen.

Thumb and third finger. He'll use them to lift the phone into the light to inspect the oil residue. Tōru was careful not to disturb the surface earlier. His sister's phone is locked with a dot pattern. There is a reason he cut the index finger off one of the gloves - because his skin needs to be in contact with the glass.

9-6-5-2-1-4 lets him in.

He goes through her files. The oldest is from one year ago. Fuck. He goes through her messaging apps and opens the albums of exchanged photos. Nothing. Emails don't matter when they're only set to sync the last few months. He opens the native MMS inbox.

The first thing he sees is his name in a set of messages not addressed to him.

Of course that means Tōru skims the conversation.

They want new, youthful, good-looking talent. Idols are popular and shows with idols on their panel are cutting into their future audience share. Tōru would be perfect for the role. Tōru has grown into a handsome, charming, and very natural people-pleaser. That doesn't guarantee he'll be the same behind a camera. Tōru already has a small but dedicated fanbase and lives as if his life is filmed by cameras. There's a mention of a Shouji-san from Somy. If Tōru expresses an interest in the role, Saki will vouch for him.

The rest of her inbox is one year old at most.

Otherwise, his search yields him nothing.

Tōru wipes his fingerprints off the screen with his sister's jacket, hides the gloves, then enters trudgingly back to the dining.

"-- university plans?" Saki is saying.

Tōru takes his seat, takes his chopsticks, and picks up some bamboo shoots whilst leaving the shrimp ignored. The other two have empty bowls, finished eating.

Shōyō glances up from where he's looking at Saki. His shoulders twitch slightly, as if contemplating if he should face Tōru.

It looks like Shōyō licks his lips though Tōru can't see him well.

"Don't know," says Shōyō. "Maybe? Kageyama's going to get a scholarship for sure, so if I'm gonna beat him, I'll need to get into a team ... but even Daichi-san couldn't get one and he's awesome so ... don't know."

"I wish you the best of luck," Saki says. "And, should you receive a letter, don't go about discarding it aimlessly without thinking."

Tōru continues chewing while pretending he can't hear her insulting him.

Soon enough Saki has mentioned the time and rises to her feet to clean the plates away. Shōyō hops up and volunteers to help.

"Where did you put the garbage collection schedule?" Saki asks.

Tōru shrugs. "What've you got to throw out?"

"A broken umbrella."

"Steel?" Tōru thinks for a moment. "Glass, cartons, and steel is tomorrow. Pretty sure."

"Shōyō, you know how to put rubbish so animals can't get at it?"

"Yep," says Shōyō. "We have birds and rats where we live."

"Then, if you could --" Saki looks around. "Tōru, go with Shōyō to the drop-off ..."

"It's okay!" yells Shōyō, suddenly frantic, "I- I can do it! I know, err, I saw it on my way in today!"

In a flash, Shōyō has taken the garbage and vanished before anyone can protest. Several seconds pass where he changes his shoes and then the sound of the front door opening and closing means he's gone. He did all of this without meeting Tōru's gaze.

Tōru glances across to see his sister's polite smile. Shōyō's oddities aren't important any more.

Tōru and Saki are now alone.

"Wow," Tōru remarks, because whatever he says won't make any difference. "You'll make a guest go take the garbage out?"

Saki stares at him. Her eyes can be described as shining, full of glee from whatever emotions she wants him to understand. Tōru can't care for it. She's perfect and that's disgusting.

"The reason you couldn't go to Tōkyō was because he was here," she says to him.

There's no use if Tōru confirms or denies it. She'll smash up his brain matter, no matter, pull it out with an embalming hook reaching through his nostrils with hard steel.

"So?" says Tōru. "It's too late now. There's no point in your pushing this. I _was_ a fantastic volleyball player, no? He wants to learn from me. I miss playing."

"What is Shōyō to you?"

Tōru doesn't like where she's going with this. "I promised to him that I would teach him to receive --"

"You've put him ahead of Hajime, when Hajime was looking forward to meeting you." Saki ignores each attempt he makes to change the topic to something else, something safer. She dismantles. Tōru hates dealing with his sister. "I refuse to watch you destroy your friendships like you've destroyed your future." Tōru hates people who want to hold his choices above him. "Won't you consider anyone but yourself for a minute, Tōru?"

Something clicks in Tōru's brain.

 

 

 

 

For Tōru, his life contains three eternal truths:

Iwaizumi Hajime, who he'd met in grade school, is a spirit with a huge heart and the ability to feel the hearts of everything around him. Iwaizumi is the reason that Tōru understands that, in this pool of all these other boring people with no obviously remarkable skills, there's something that can be gained in every situation. Hajime is irreplaceable; Hajime is Tōru's best friend.

Saki has something which can jeopardise this. An extra set of eyes from what should have been simply a childish play-game and curiosity; this innocent wonderment, thinking, why was it that he'd heard talk of cat owners not being allowed to own some types of flowers? --All before Hajime's significance in Tōru's life managed to cement itself. Saki is a threat. Tōru is one hundred percent certain that she hates him.

It's difficult to win against Oikawa Saki. Having an ill mother between them means she's taught him everything he knows, ever since she'd been in middle school. Winning against her is impossible. She's the confident type that believes in her own strength and has the ability to back up every one of her claims.

 

 

 

 

Then Tōru remembers something else about a someone else, an Ushijima Wakatoshi undefeatable and confident and never one to make empty claims:

Shiratorizawa was defeated by Shōyō.

 

 

 

 

It turns out the clicking noise is not entirely imaginary. It's the sound of the door opening in the distance, Tōru notes, which means one single thing. Moments pass, then Shōyō is in the room again.

He's carrying the garbage, expression apologetic, and eyebrows low.

"One of the neighbours saw me," says Shōyō. "Bushy eyebrows said 'cuz trash can only be put out tomorrow. Not evenings."

"Strange," comments Saki. Shōyō's re-appearance has effectively eliminated the Tōkyō subject, Tōru notes, as her body twists around to welcome him. "Motohisa-san has never minded before."

Shōyō yawns. It's a huge bubble of air that goes up from his stomach and makes him arch and then dissipates into nowhere.

"'m head back," he says. "Thank'th for food. But ... Kā-san's worry. Worried. Gotta get home."

"I'll go with you," says Tōru.

Shōyō jumps. "H-- Huh?"

"You came by the main road, right? There's a bike shortcut so you don't need to go around through the town centre if you want to get back to Torono."

As Tōru speaks, he's beginning to smile. He _knows_ how Shōyō thinks. He's looking at Shōyō and realising that he _knows_ what Shōyō looks like, too, beneath that shirt of his, though he can't remember how exactly he came about this information. And Shōyō looks like he's trembling, a little.

So Tōru adds: "I'll lend you a jacket. It's a bit chilly."

Shōyō's skin explodes into a redness so bright it's difficult to tell where his hair starts and ends. It confirms Tōru's suspicions that his nerves the whole evening have to do with their relationship. Shōyō is too simple-minded to start wondering about possibilities if he is genuinely cold and Tōru gives him something to wear.

Tōru glances aside and pretends to hide his smile beneath his fingers, as if he'd just remembered his sister has been watching. She smiles to herself and he wonders if she thinks he's abashed or unravelling the future possibilities in the midst of forward-thinking.

Saki comments that she, too, needs to go for her train soon, so Tōru presumes it is the former.

 

 

 

 

That is how Tōru and Shōyō walk alone together on darkened roads, side by side.

It begins with silence.

The two say nothing to one another. There's nothing more exchanged than the muffled sound of shoes on stone and the rhythmic creaking of Shōyō's bicycle. It feels like gentle breathing, a little like walking along an ocean and serenaded by the language of the waves. As Tōru exists in this space, time tells him which choices lead to what paths leading to whose destinations.

Iwaizumi's reappearance, brief as it were, brought with it an inspiration of sorts. Tōru's choices feel like stars. Golden flakes of corn drawn into constellations connected by coloured threads woven on the tapestry of Tōru's understanding of time and control.

Within a singular existence, the one called Oikawa Tōru contemplates.

Once upon a time, a crow said from the ground: " _Grand King. Let's play volleyball together."_

"I won't play with you," the Grand King did speak, "not when my aide is away, and you are unfit as a partner." But upon seeing the crow's hungry eyes, the Grand King considered. He was bored, and there was nothing for him to lose, when all the time felt like a waste of time. Liking the crow's attention, he gave it some errands, to see more of what that hunger was like.

The crow finished the errands and the Grand King taught it lessons.  

The crow learned as was its hunger and continued yearning. It was selfish and got too attached to the Grand King. When it learned that there were other birds, it snapped out and took the hair which the Grand King held beloved.

Tōru contemplates. The universe is a tapestry. He'll write the best story. What would be a satisfying ending?

Does the Grand King love his hair more than the hungry crow loved him?

"Hey, Shō-chan," says Tōru.

Shōyō stiffens. His shoulders tense, though that doesn't prevent him from pushing his bicycle by Tōru's side. "Y-- yes? Tōru-san?"

"What's the reason you came by?'

"Uhhhh ..." Shōyō dithers.

"There was something you wanted to ask, right?"

Shōyō's incoherent stammers bubble into nervous laughter. Tōru glances down and makes a note that even one size smaller from his usual clothing is a little too large for Shōyō. Shōyō's fingers and knuckles are all that's visible of his hands, peeking from the openings of two blue jumper sleeves.

Come to think of it, there's a relationship trope that involves borrowing clothes. There are some elements in the wrong order, but seeing as Shōyō spent the previous night, this one ought to be written correctly in the story.

Tōru is just about to prompt Shōyō into some answer when Shōyō finally gets back to talking.

"Why did we --" A muscle in Shōyō's face twitches. He doesn't glance over. "Why did you, last night ...?"

Tōru touches his head, where there should be hair, but there is none. He doesn't remember last night but he remembers enough of it to know what he needs to say.

"Isn't it obvious, Shō-chan?"

The bicycle stops its creaking.

"Obvious?"

Tōru doesn't stop. He continues walking forward, an element of carelessness in every stride.

"Well, of course," Tōru tosses behind him, without looking to see if Shōyō will catch it. "It's because I like you."

The bicycle screeches.

Carefully, Shōyō's fingers release the handbrake.

Tōru leans down.

"Hey," he says. He offers a hand, which draws Shōyō's gaze to him. "Want to play a game?"

Shōyō's attention sharpens instantly, exactly what Tōru would expect from Tobio. Except, where Tobio would hesitate from politeness, Shōyō's words are giddy and full and nowhere as carefully chosen. "You mean we get to play volleyball?"

"Come closer, and I'll tell you."

Shōyō does. He stops, directly next to Tōru, his eyes flickering nervously to Tōru's face in those last few steps, looking for an indication of how close 'closer' is, receiving nothing.

"What do you think of my sister, Shō-chan?" Tōru asks.

"Saki-san?" Shōyō tilts his head. "Errrr ... I guess, she reminds me of Shimizu-san, a bit. That's our old manager. She's nice though. Why?"

Tōru shrugs and tucks his fingers under Shōyō's chin before pulling it into a kiss. He feels Shōyō stilling for a moment, then kiss him back.

Tōru is slow tonight. Shōyō obliges with that pace, yet Tōru can feel something pulling at his neck. He has half a mind to tell Shōyō not to tug his shirt so much, but in that moment, Shōyō's mouth briefly parts so he can breathe and Tōru is already there to seal off the gap.

Shōyō presses closer. It's quick to escalate into tongues.

"I'll play volleyball with you," Tōru says, when they've parted. "Your receiving is better. But, you know, there's one more thing I want you to learn before we do."

Shōyō says nothing. His eyes are wide and he's absorbing every word.

A breeze tickles his hair and what's left of Tōru's, and Tōru crushes the disgust from its loss because he knows it will grow back. There's more that he can do.

Tōru looks through time, nods, and smiles.

"I'll teach you how to serve."

 

 

 

 

By the time Tōru arrives home, his sister is leaving.

"Tōru," she says, "there's something I've been alerted about. I think you know what I'm mentioning." Her hands are on her hips and her stare narrows into a beam. "There's been withdrawals on the account that don't match up. Somewhere, you've an extra two thousand American dollars."

"What?" Tōru's voice shrinks into itself for a second. The next second, he's taken a deep breath, and his shoulders have fitted back to let his lungs expand. "You're saying -- that money -- _I_ took it?"

"That's what the records say."

"Ridiculous." Tōru shakes his head in disbelief. "There's something wrong with the numbers then. Are you _still_ doing your accounting by pen and paper?"

"Certainly not. There's much reliable software."

"Then a wrong number is in there skewing everything else in your tables."

Saki raises an eyebrow. "So, you say you're not taking this money?"

"'Course not." Tōru meets her eyes. "We've been using your money for years and you should _know_ by now."

She stares at him for a while longer.

"You'll miss your train," says Tōru.

She sighs.

"Fine," she relents. "I'll believe you."

Tōru's shoulders sag in relief and the absence of stress. The smile he gives is weak and small.

"Thank-you, Saki-nē." He looks around their entryway. "Did you find Kā-chan's phone OK ...?"

"I have it here," she says, and shows him.

"Great. Wouldn't want you to also forget the only reason you rescheduled your route and decided to show up here."

"There was another thing I hoped to talk to you about if I saw you, actually," she corrects. "Would you consider working in TV?"

"TV? Like those variety show rejects who eat roaches and ogle scenery because they don't have anything better to do with their time?"

She ignores him. "There is a spot opening up on one of our programs. One of our regulars, Ao-kun, has been offered a movie role, and can no longer make the timeslot."

"You think I'm good for it?" Tōru asks.

"I hope that you may consider it," his sister corrects.

Tōru nods and rolls his eyes and mutters something half-hearted which is not supposed to mean anything. Soon enough, she's leaving, taking her things with her out the door, and Tōru waves before pulling the door closed. Finally. Some hours of peace, by himself, without the biggest pain in his life interrupting him.

It's when he's stopped in the laundry before showering that he sees it. Reflected in the vanity is a bundle of loose threads.

The button at his throat has been stolen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 19 : (Kageyama, Ensemble) Tomorrow ... is another day.「胸に火を灯して」
> 
>  
> 
> ... In the case that anybody is still wondering, Daichi's 'teaching how to kiss' involves links to WikiHow. (courtesy of lee)


	19. A Little King (胸に火を灯して)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Little King (Light a fire in my chest)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not an easy chapter. I cannot say it's the easiest or the hardest. Everyone has their tolerances. Please be careful with yourselves.
> 
> Thank-you to everyone who has read this far. This last act is a mixed one☆

 

 

For the first time in a very long time, Tobio does not go to morning practice.

He wakes at dawn like usual. He lies with his eyes open in his bed, not like usual. His ceiling is kinda fuzzy and kinda out of focus. The window beside him is a little open if he can hear animals. Chiip-chiip-chiip-chiip-chiip. He saw a nest on the roof before.

It's Monday.

Tobio breathes and his lungs clench. He lies there, doing nothing, trying to knock out the knots in his head.

_Knock-out round_ , one of the English phrases he kind of remembers class discussing last week. He likes the sports related sentence sets. That's when the textbook gets more bearable.

His mother finds him like this an hour later, because Tobio hasn't gone to morning practice.

He's dropped off at school today.

"Call me if anything changes," his mother says.

Tobio gets out and tries to ignore the baseball club looking at the car parked out in front. The club is in the middle of packing up their stuff but he knows high-schoolers don't care about concentrating entirely on errands and shit, so. They'll be staring.

He fumbles with the crutches. The bell goes off.

He heads for class.

He sees his family car driving away.

When he gets to class, everyone's staring at him. Some of them hide behind phones or books but they're definitely still staring. The class representative Igota jumps up and makes a fuss about the crutches. When homeroom teach shows up he puts up a hand and asks something.

"May I swap seats with Kageyama until he's healed?"

Teach says yes. Igota gets up from his first-row spot so Tobio can put down his bag.

Tobio notices irritating Tsukishima moving his head to look at the class rep taking the seat next to him. Tobio's normal seat. Tsukishima had been looking at the window. Like he's too cool to join the rest of the class in their staring.

"Stand and bow," Igota says.

One of Tobio's crutches clang loudly on the ground. Tobio sits down to pick it up and the embarrassment burns in his face and it won't go away.

Class starts and Tobio realises the front-row seat is worse than his normal seat. He's closer to the door. Everyone who goes to the toilet gets to look at him. All the teachers glance at him when they come in since they're used to class rep sitting there. The teachers see the crutches and their faces shift. Tobio doesn't care if they're pitying him or whatever,

Tobio hates being 'the crutches guy'.

Tobio clenches his fingers.

Stupid.

He's awake for once, able to pay attention to the English teacher talking about transitive verbs, but, that's 'cause he hasn't been able to play so he's not sleeping class away.

"' _I buy a novel last two weeks.'_ An attempt at the homework, Nakamura-san, and incomplete. What is the novel? There is part of the response, is there not? Please try again, with the English title: ' _A Little Princess'_ ..."

Tobio's head hurts. The pressure behind his ears is white smoke. His head hits the desk when he tries to hide his frustration, and everyone sees him doing it.

It's not like they can miss him.

He's in the front row.

 

 

 

 

Lunch.

Tobio's mother made him omelette today. Normally he's never in the room for lunch, not this year when he's in this classroom, he'd rather have tosses on his mind, so it's kinda surprising seeing many people staying in there with him too. They're talking about the school trip to Tōkyō that's in a month. Everyone's excited for it. They say the planning and rosters and sights, it's all been finished already.

"Which isn't a surprise," Nakamura announces loudly, "it's the exact same field trip every year. My sister told me." So everyone who still thinks it's a big deal going down south to Tōkyō crowds around Nakamura wanting to know more info.

Tobio wants his milk drink, kinda.

Sitting in the front, he notices Yamaguchi in the other advanced class entering and going for Tsukishima. Tsukishima and his assish voice makes some remark to something that Tobio missed and Tobio determinedly eats. Determinedly ignores him.

Tobio doesn't ask anyone to get him some milk.

Especially not Tsukishima.

The gossip from the classmates returning after lunch mentions a 'her', like a stranger. Tobio listens, even though it's all gossip and shit. It's better than thinking about ... anything else.

"Beauty outside the vice-principal's office."

"Could be a new teacher. I hear Chiba-sensei is retiring."

"She has a visitor's pass! Woww, she seems nice, I hope she is a teacher."

"E- excuse me," a voice says.

Tobio knows that one.

After the gossipers move away from the door, Yachi-san is entering.

Tobio blinks when she stops near him. She smiles and Tobio's throat dries up and Tobio sends glares to the knowing looks his classmates are giving behind her.

Yachi's back is really straight. She stands taller than normal today and her fingers shake but her gaze is still.

"Kageyama-kun," Yachi says, "you weren't at morning practice today."

Tobio nods. Her saying it makes his chest tighten like he's been running and he's out of breath and he hates it. He sees in the edge of his mind, some of his classmates losing interest, since they remember she's the manager of his club and there's nothing extra going on.

"Will you," Yachi-san says, hesitates, "w-- will you come to the afternoon one?"

Her stammering tightens his chest further. It must be making a fearsome face, Tobio's frustration.

Tobio remembers what his frustration did in middle school. Tobio tries to pull it in and shifts in the chair, careful with the pressure on his ankle. He minds where his other leg is going. This time the crutches stay there, not kicked, fine.

The crutches.

Tobio's been waiting for asshole Tsukishima to say it, all day. _You got yourself into this_ , with that glint off his glasses and an irritating smile. Tobio knows he did, but, before feeling wooden legs digging into his armpits he didn't ... consider.

It's what happens to others. Not him.

Volleyball court and volleyball toss. A jump, then, the floor rising up. Toes expecting to land, arms already readying to grab the next ball,

his whole body falling.

Yachi's smile wavers.

She wants him to go to afternoon practice on a day he skipped the morning.

Tobio thinks about it.

"... mmn," Tobio says, because it's Yachi-san. Because, to her, it's hard to say no.

"Kageyama Tobio, please come to the vice-principal's office," the loudspeaker system crackles, croaky and old. Even the PA club disbanded since it's so bad for broadcasting. "Kageyama Tobio, please come to the vice-principal's office ..."

Yachi-san smiles with closed eyes before she leaves him since her message is done.

"See you later, Kageyama-kun."

Tobio gets his crutches and his classmates are snickering. They heard her say it, sure.

Tobio scowls and thinks of tossing volleyballs.

 

 

 

 

Up-and-down. Up-and-down. That's what walking with crutches is like. Up-and-down.

Just outside the vice-principal's office, wearing a visitor's pass, is a lady. She's looking at the trophy cabinet with the awards the volleyball club won last year. She has black hair that goes to her waist in a braid, a white turtleneck shirt, and a collarless grey jacket that was in fashion two years ago.

Tobio knows this because the lady outside the vice-principal's office is his mother.

"Tobio," she says. Her arms move like she wants to help him. She doesn't, the look in her eyes the same as when she tells him she'll stay in the car when she drops him off. He doesn't have to mention that people seeing her would be embarrassing. She gets what school can be like sometimes, full of students that haven't found anything better to do than care about meaningless things.

She's who Tobio admires, a bit, sometimes.

"Okā-san," Tobio says.

The door to the vice-principal's office opens. Tobio's mother smiles gently at him then raises a hand to say, you can be first to go in.

Inside it is the vice-principal, round like normal. A bit more tanned, or something, Tobio thinks anyway. It's orange skin and not the purple he started looking out for after Sawamura-san had warned him against making the vice-principal angry.

The vice-principal hurries around the table. "Please, have a seat; have a seat."

From the three chairs there, Tobio and his mother take two.

There's small-talk. Tobio fights a yawn.

"Now, Kageyama-kun," the vice-principal says. "After some consideration, it seems that you've been placed in the incorrect class, this year. Please understand that this is not a slight against yourself -- you are, after all," the vice-principal takes a breath, " _you're_ one of the star students of the entire cohort. And so, that you may be able to focus more on your volleyball instead of your grades, this decision has been made."

Tobio's first thought is that it's mocking him. Giving him more time, what's the point? He needs crutches. He can't play.

To one side his mother gently squeezes his hand with one of hers.

Tobio's second thought is that, oh. Just 'cause he's not completely failing his subjects means it's still kinda 50/50 anyway.

Tobio looks at his mother, sees in her face some missing surprise. She already knows about the move. She smiles at him kindly.

The vice-principal keeps talking. Tobio listens long enough to the rest of the words to know that, he'll be moving classes immediately, and the class he's being moved to isn't Hinata's. But it won't be Tsukishima's, or Yamaguchi's, either.

Once Tobio returns and starts packing his things, Igota volunteers to help him take his stuff. Tobio accepts. Tobio doesn't mind.

It'll just be like middle school classes. No one in the volleyball club to sneer at him or make small-talk.

Tobio has afternoon practice he can go to.

It'll be okay if Tobio is alone.

 

 

 

 

It turns out that it's actually Coach who wants him there at practice time.

"Good to see you," Coach tells him.

Some part of Tobio, the one that expected Yachi-san, feels like it wants to leave. He doesn't want to see reminders of how he failed everything for the team this whole year.

He'll just be glared at. Everyone turning away from him.

Then Coach says, "No point suspending your training."

Tobio doesn't know what that means. He can't stand.

Coach asks him to sit down.

"Watch everyone and give them feedback," Coach orders. "Then when they do skills practice you can give some tosses sitting down. I could do with your hands. Sound good?"

Tobio doesn't get it.

Coach notices. His brow furrows like he's trying to see something far away.

"Take the frustration and learn from it," Coach tells him. "You might feel like shit, but, being grounded is also training for a Setter."

Tobio stares. The words make sense.

The pressure on his heart lets go a bit.

Tobio sits and determines himself to be the best at watching.

 

 

 

 

Tobio watches.

Sei's improvement is starting to stall a little. Of course. Tobio can see, now it's too late. How sometimes Sei turns his entire head towards people when they're talking. He's tenser, too. Easier to anger. Shouts for sets like they're commands. Closes his eyes when Coach yells it's time for a break, breathing quietly to himself like he's assessing his strength, walks to the door with something like forced calm.

It's easy to see those signs that someone is pushing themselves too hard.

Scary, Tobio thinks to himself.

"Huh?" Sei asks.

Tobio talked aloud and didn't notice. He's not embarrassed or ashamed. The crutches exist and failure is still in the back of his head. Compared to all that ... speaking thoughts out loud isn't anything.

"You," Tobio says. "You don't like volleyball and you still want to beat everybody."

Sei looks at Tobio and it looks a bit less like Sawamura-san even though he's got the mouth for it. It's more like ... Oikawa-san.

Tobio thinks there's a word.

"Do you like volleyball, Kageyama-senpai?" Sei blinks. Keeps talking even though he's been asking a question. "You're so defeated, of course you do."

Tobio can't find any argument for that.

"Yeah," Tobio says.

Sei stares at Tobio, eyes frowny-like. "Is that it? I'm sure ... in those videos, the ones nī-san likes, you've had more life in you."

"Yeah," Tobio says.

Sei's eyes become a glare. Tobio can't work it out. But the Oikawa resemblance is huge now. It's exactly the face Oikawa used to give him in middle school after Tobio has asked for a toss. A mix of wide eyes, head-tilt, small disgust.

Tobio looks for that word.

"You won't _react?"_ Sei says it so loud, some others look over. "I'll call you shit, then. Your volleyball isn't anything special. It's not like _everybody_ in this room thinks you're the strongest player, you know that? Maybe you used to be, but --"

"S-- Sei!" His twin yells.

"Swamp-head!" Tanaka yells too.

Tobio's about to say "Yeah," again, 'cause Sei's not wrong. But Tobio's body doesn't want to listen. Tobio feels like he wants to say a lot more things than _Yeah_ but whatever's been happening since the morning, it's making him feel like his talking whenever he talks, it's all in his head. His mouth says nothing and his ribs hurt even though he hasn't gotten bruised.

"You can't fix things by picking fights!"

"You gonna let this go on, Chikara?"

The yelling keeps going surround-sound. Everything's weird. Tobio's head goes distant and everything's blurry.

"You've become pathetic, Kageyama-senpai."

Tobio's throat mutes. His lips stay shut and his lips tingle when he tries to make them say something, but, nothing's listening to his head.

_Yeah._

Everything lurches upwards all at once. It's disappointingly late once Tobio realises Sei's grabbed him by the collar. The spike of adrenaline inside Tobio's head wakes him up from the haze, jolts through his body like he's crashed after free-falling. His toes touch the ground like they're fleshy and real, even though his foot stings. There's another loud yell, a roar through the hall. A distinct behemoth rising from Captain's throat,

and Tobio's back bounces off the wall when he falls, lands down in the chair again.

"Look _up_ ," Sei barks. He's above. "Don't look down. I still have to _learn_ from you. We watched your finals last year, you're Karasuno's _Kageyama Tobio_ , the _strongest_ of all the Setters. I'm going to end up taking your place, so you'd better _suck up the pain_."

Captain's orders follow, sharp and clear. "I _said,_ you're taking your aggression _too far._ "

Dimly Tobio realises Captain's voice had been in the blur. Whatever his head is doing, it's fucking weird. A part of Tobio is still trying to work out _that word_ too. The one that describes Oikawa-san.

Tobio hates it too.

Even now he can't get rid of thinking endlessly about the scariest player in the world.

_Second-scariest,_ a voice says, when Tobio thinks of feathery brown hair.

A volleyball flies towards his chest. By the time Tobio notices Sei's throw, Tobio's already caught it. The skin springs when his fingers presses its sides.

"I'm going to cool off," Sei says to the room. He gives Tobio that face again, tilting his head, "To take everything so personally, you really must love volleyball."

The first-year walks out, leaving the ball.

Tobio spins it, feels the air move. Things kinda click and he sees it in how the haze vanishes a little, feeling his stomach sinking and his chest on fire at the same time. The face which looks like Oikawa-san's, that Oikawa-san sometimes gives him.

The word Tobio wants is 'judging'.

 

 

 

 

Tobio watches.

Tobio is the Setter, so he knows how everyone plays on the court. He knows the quirks involved with the timings. Tanaka-san likes his spikes on the fast side even though he prefers his quicks to be this end of slow. Yamaguchi's timing depends most on where he's standing and how he blocked. Captain and Narita are stable players who don't need variation. Tobio can list all these things about everyone.

As Tobio watches, he sees Yamaguchi instantly swap from marking Hinata to blocking a first-year out and. It's starting to make sense. More sense. How Coach says that being grounded is also training for a Setter. On the court everything moves so fast there's no time to think of anything, just _is the ball on our side_ and _what is the opponent doing._

Doesn't matter if there's no new strategies to get from watching Karasuno train. Coach means Tobio needs to include paying attention to everyone's own progresses to his list of trainings as Setter.

Yamaguchi's block gets admired by the gushy Fujihara twin, the one which dived to receive that spike. He had the perfect view of the shut-out. Even _he_ thought Yamaguchi was going to jump for Hinata. Yamaguchi flushes sheepishly and rubs his neck, mentioning Shiratorizawa from last year.

Of course. The Tendō Satori-type feint. It should have been obvious that Yamaguchi has been absorbing from inside the sidelines. He could watch high-level play, and analyse successes or fails from personal techniques without having to react from the game. This year they have enough players for him to be active in practice time. Next year he will be fearsome in his unique way as a third-year for the roster.

Tobio didn't know this.

"The five of you," Coach says suddenly.

Tobio jumps. Tobio didn't notice him near.

Coach is looking at Yamaguchi, too, and the players resetting on the court. "You'll need to think about the new captain soon."

Tobio nods. He looks back at Yamaguchi like Coach is looking and hasn't got complaints. It isn't anything he's wanted to protest.

Tobio wants to play volleyball too much to want to lead a team.

Coach says nothing else about that, goes back to critiquing the others, walks around the vastness of the first gymnasium, which they can use since the other clubs are in break time and ceremony rehearsals haven't started. They do need the space. The expansions which Sawamura and Sugawara are working on will be a great improvement. Tobio would appreciate it better if he doesn't have crutches. If Tobio can walk.

The pressure on his heart stretches and buckles like it's panting.

Gameplay resumes and Tobio watches.

Whatever thing that happened before, that weird haze, Tobio can feel it at the edge of his consciousness. That feeling of being there-but-not. It's floating in space and feeling the players moving around him on the court in three dimensions, as if he's on the court and waiting for the ball.

He isn't.

It's obvious from the end of a volleyball court that the Setter is the coolest position. The strongest. The one who gets the ball to the players for them to score.

Tobio isn't on the court.

He clenches his hands against the sides of his chair. Its bumps and grooves are as real as the frustration in his skin.

_I want to play volleyball._

Sei fumbles a toss and he's normal. Tobio's watching and realising he's seeing Oikawa-san's ghost in a person who's _normal_ , has barely began his volleyball life, has athleticism without any finesse in ball control. What Tobio fears is being burned, not the size of a fire.

_I need to get stronger._

Everyone around him is frustrated, trying their best. Only the strong can stay on the court. It's not like that's understanding none of them have.

_I need to get better._

But there's something Tobio can't work out. It's the same as the feeling when he tried to find that word.

Sei is nothing. He isn't the most scary. Yet Oikawa Tōru also isn't the scariest.

It shouldn't matter but it does.

Tobio watches as everyone trains without him. He tries to ignore how the world has gotten colder.

 

 

 

 

"What do you think?" Coach asks.

Tobio balances on his crutches. He looks for the words. Yamaguchi. Sei. Captain. Tanaka. Everyone.

Watching everyone is, "... Different."

Coach makes one of those smiles with lots of his teeth. His cheeks fill up with the stuff from some sort of secret smug.

"That's how high school volleyball is," Coach says.

He claps Tobio on the back. Tobio wants his crutches gone already.

"Take a break, if you want, tomorrow," Coach tells him when he's leaving. "Good work today. You've grown."

The pressure around Tobio's heart claws at him, burnt and angry, even as it crumbles against all the rising warmth.

Tobio joins everyone when they're shouting loudly, "Thank-you for today, sir!"

Tobio can't smile yet.

But Tobio can breathe now.

He made a mistake. He'll carefully heal and fix it.

It's okay to be angry.

 

 

 

 

"Yachi-san, can I talk to you after?" Hinata's voice.

Tobio watches.

He doesn't mean to. He heard them say it and he doesn't care about whatever private thing they do. It's just happened.

Hinata and Yachi-san are in the storeroom by themselves and Tobio is outside the doors like this is all some stupid set-up or whatever.

It's not. Tobio realised he's still holding onto a volleyball after the cart's been stored.

It's just happened.

"Can you look after something for me?" Hinata asks.

Tobio wants to put things back.

Hinata must have given her something because Yachi's voice is confused. "What's this?"

Tobio doesn't care about whatever they're doing and Tobio just needs to make his legs move. Fucking move. This is the sort of shit that always ends up no good.

Tobio needs to go back.

"It's Tōru-san's."

That horrible grip over Tobio's heart snaps back on again, just like that. Screaming in Tobio's head. It laughs, mockingly, the same way that Oikawa-san laughs, about it being so many years and he still can't get over the influence from Oikawa-san,

and Tobio hates it.

Tobio pushes it off and takes a step. He'll do what he came to do, put the ball away. He's close enough to see Yachi-san holding a button up in the light. It's a boring button yet Yachi makes a squeaking sound once she sees what it is. She fumbles with it between her hands and looks like she's gaping.

"This is ... the second button?" Yachi says a bit like she's out of breath. "A _confession?"_

"What?" Hinata asks. "No. That's the top button."

"Oh. Top button ... the neck? Collar? Wait. There's nothing symbolic about the top button. Oh. ... oh."

"Can you look after it for me?"

"Umm, sure."

Yachi's head moves. She'll see Tobio if it finishes moving.

Before Tobio realises what's happened, he's in his old spot. He grits his teeth as irritation goes through him. His arms and feet moved by themselves and all he knows is that his heart is rapid-beating. He doesn't know who is making him feel like this or why.

He doesn't care. He shouldn't be there.

"-- that okay?" Yachi's voice finishes saying.

"I have him here." It sounds like Hinata shows her something. "But that button doesn't fit. I ... don't want to lose it, so ..."

Suddenly Hinata yells, " _I'm really sorry!_ You're the only one I can ask, Yachi-san!"

"A-- Alright," Yachi says. "Errr ... that jar ... is that his ... hair ...?"

"It's Tōru-san."

"... Ah?"

"Right." Hinata makes an affirmative noise. "He says he's going to teach me how to serve."

Tobio is not ready for those words.

It's like Hinata's super-quick combo spikes. It happens so fast that Tobio doesn't realise there's a feeling gripping his throat, wrapping tight, not until he tries to breathe.

Tobio sees Oikawa's most charming smile in his head, the one he gives everyone. Just like he gave Hinata that day before the game started, when it turned out both of them, they were friends. Tobio thinks of the elegant hands that ruffled Hinata's hair, the hands he loves-admires.

The feeling pressures around his chest blocking, killing, failure to serve,

this is what death is like.

"Really?" Yachi asks. Her voice is excited. "He was so strong, Hinata, that's great!"

"Yeah!" Hinata exclaims. "I'm super hype! It'll be _awesome!"_

Tobio's knee gives. The crutches stab him as they hold him up. He's going to fall,

he's already fallen. His blood beats faster. He's out of air,

Hinata has the first volleyball he's ever fallen in love with.

I'm jealous.

This is death.

Tobio's throat clogs when something rises. It's big and broad and ignores everything in its way, like happiness. Then he realises it _is_ happiness deciding whatever Tobio feels inside doesn't matter. Happiness pulls him, makes his lungs big and breathing again. Happiness tells him he's always wanted to see it. Oikawa, who Tobio fears and admires, finally teaching a serve which so much of Tobio has been chasing. Happiness crushes his lungs into his ribcage and feels like acid tears trying to get down his face.

This is death.

Yachi's voice says, "I know I asked before the match, but uhmm, Hinata, do you ... do you, l- lo--"

"Yeah." Hinata's getting louder. But he's always loud. "You thought so, and Tōru-san says it's love, too, so ..." Even the sound of Hinata's pause is louder than usual, until he says again, "I think I love him too --"

It's too late for Tobio to realise they're getting closer. The moment he realises is when they break free of the doorway and see him.

"Kageyama?" Hinata blurts, making a jump back that's half the length of his body.

Yachi goes pink. "K- Kageyama-kun!"

Tobio sees she's holding a set of scissors. They're silver. He doesn't know why he notices that or focuses on it, he doesn't care about them. He just wants to ... look somewhere else.

Maybe he's quiet for a bit too long. Hinata moves closer and waves his arms and almost takes Tobio's head off.

"Agghh, sorry, is it the crutches?!" Hinata says, mouth moving faster than a bullet train. "I ... it's ok, Kageyama, I don't blame you, I'd want to find a corner for myself, too --"

"Kageyama-kun," Yachi says.

"-- and, errr, ummmm." Hinata starts bouncing. "I'm sorry."

Tobio's face gets darker. Fog bleeds into his eyes.

"Don't apologise if you didn't do anything," Tobio says.

Hinata did nothing. Tobio's crutches are because of Tobio's own weakness. Tobio couldn't catch Oikawa-san's notice --

"Then don't be so gloomy."

The words punch Tobio into his gut. _"Haahh?"_

"I said, don't be gloomy." Hinata's annoyance matches Tobio's annoyance, like it's all another dumbass challenge or something. "If I didn't do anything, you didn't either. We're a _team._ Everything we do is _together._ "

"Are we _friends?"_

A small squeak reminds Tobio that it's not just him and Hinata. Yachi-san is there. A gross and sticky disgusting thing adds itself to the mess inside Tobio's chest and Tobio for sure knows how he doesn't want her to be there.

Tobio ... still hasn't asked her if she wanted to be his friend.

Tobio's head shakes. That's an annoying thought. Don't stand in the way.

Tobio remembers Oikawa-san and his craziness and that match with the Mad Dog that no one else obviously knew how to work with either. Oikawa-san is scary.

Tobio says, "You don't have to be friends to be working together on the same team."

Hinata licks his lips.

"You don't," Hinata agrees.

A part of Tobio does the strangling thing more while another part is glad he can just go back to volleyball.

Tobio straightens as much as he can with the crutches supporting him. "Fine --"

"But I think we are."

Tobio looks at Hinata. His hair is stupid and his eyes are stupid staring serious.

"I'm going ahead," Hinata tells Tobio.

Tobio knows without looking that it's normally the time they start racing. Hinata's referring to that. Besides the race, Hinata's not referring to anything else.

Hinata leaves.

Yachi's eyes glance back at Tobio, from looking at Hinata's exit. Her mouth opens and closes. She closes her eyes, shakes a bit, makes a tiny nod that Tobio thinks he's not meant to see.

"Will ... you be alright, Kageyama-kun?" she asks.

Tobio has his mind on how Hinata said nothing to her before his leaving.

Tobio doesn't know how she wants him to answer.

"We're friends," he says.

Yachi-san accompanies him to the gate, where his mother is meant to pick him up. Then Yachi also leaves so she can go home to her own place. And Tobio's chest still aches like his heart's crushed so tiny that he can hold it in his palm.

Tobio spends the car ride with his head back and one of his hands over his eyes. The sun right when it sets is super bright. He can still toss, even though his foot is gone. If his eyes are gone,

he can't do anything.

Tobio shields his eyes from the sun and tries to sleep the death away.

 

 

 

 

"I think we're friends," Hinata says to Tobio in Tobio's dreams.

Tobio knows it's a dream because the sky is yellow and the streets are yellow and everything is yellow except for him.

Dream-Tobio says. "Then why does it hurt?"

Hinata's gone.

Tobio turns around and sees Sei.

Sei isn't yellow. He's ... green, or red, or white, or something. Some colour that's 'not-yellow' and exists only in dreams.

Where Sei's looking is at a volleyball that Tobio is now holding. The volleyball is orange and blue and purple and black and rainbow.

Tobio doesn't like Dream-Tobio. Dream-Tobio is faster or stronger or has nothing like social politeness or etiquette or any common sense that normal Tobio tries to make in normal Tobio's every day.

Sei tells the real Tobio, staring past the dream, "You care."

 

 

 

 

Being hit with cold ice wakes Tobio in the middle of the night.

Tobio jerks and clutches his sheets. Soreness goes up one shin and the sheets are dry. Tobio breathes, gulps, tries not to shiver but he's still shivering,

but that's because half his body is touching cold air.

Tobio stares at the ceiling. Doesn't move. Unmoving. He didn't close his curtains right. The moonbeam light cuts from one edge to the other edge more than halfway.

It's a thought which woke him. A thought that makes his heart beat. He thinks about it more and electricity shoots through his muscles. It makes him want to smile. Everything tingles when he closes his eyes.

Tobio breathes.

If Oikawa is teaching Hinata, then,

Oikawa-san is still playing volleyball.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tōru's room is ~~██████████████████████████████~~
> 
> "Delete every image file on disk. Everything on that computer. And whatever removable media connected to i ~~███████~~ don't want a single picture left."
> 
> Tōru is ~~█████████████████████████████~~
> 
> ~~██████~~ two thousand USD. Of course." ~~██████████████~~
> 
> ~~████████████████████████████████████████████████████~~
> 
> ~~███████████████████████████████████████████~~
> 
> ~~█████████████████~~
> 
> "The invoice ~~██████~~
> 
> ~~█████████████~~ cornered."
> 
> ~~██████████████████████████~~
> 
> ~~████~~ room is bright with the lights on and the windows and curtains closed.
> 
> His phone lights up from a text message from Shōyō. It says a certain someone is stuck with crutches and was found crying. In close enough words.
> 
> As Tōru waits for the a reboot, he puts down the headset, and ~~███████████████~~ before realising there's no need to erase that, too.
> 
> The house is empty.
> 
> Lazily, Tōru falls back on his futon. His PC goes about writing over all the evidence of that call.
> 
> "Looks like you're realising it, Tobio-chan," Tōru muses. "You don't have anything left, without volleyball."
> 
>  
> 
> ### 
> 
> ✘  
> ∟ chp 20 : (Ensemble) Where are we without friends in the cycles of need? 「ここにいますかー」
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hello.  
> I'm quite curious how realistic or relatable these characters are depicted, or have been depicted, both canon and OC inclusive.  
> If it wouldn't trouble you too much, I hope that you can let me know.


	20. Circle of Friends (ここにいますかー)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circle of Friends (Anyone there?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a little abstract. One with placement making more sense in hindsight than whilst reading ...  
> I would like to apologise in advance for how difficult it is, sometimes, to read Tsuki's writing.

 

 

For all rights, wrongs, knowledge, mysteries. As sure as the chill of the air in the minutes before the dawn and the desire to stay in bed rears chickens. Come now, cerebral foul. Stammer shut the quick impulse and set it to nest while the blankets rise: the body of Tsukishima Kei has its feet in its slippers then its slippered-feet by the washbasin, ritualistic as its arms splash water on its face. Some water pools into mouth during yawn. A handle is fetched. Glasses collected. Levered, they hook behind a set of ears.

Kei takes into himself the early morning.

Kei is awake now.

... Breakfast.

'Used to' woke early. _Used to_ did not wake so early. That _before_ Kei, who attended early-morning volleyball training, arrived on time no prior nor after. Especially not in winter where ways to win wear the fleece of comforter down. The Kei of _this now_ must be seen remiss in The Way of the Warmth or The Society of Those Sleeping In.

Kei waves an absent goodbye at family members too unfortunate to be alive at the sunrise. He does not mourn for his own loss. He has grown, though not yet in height, in accepting his position within the ranks of the idiosyncratic battalion, the obsessive idiots, the overzealous on all sides of some volleyball.

The Society of Those Sleeping In may take their superiority and self-righteous smugness and shove it where the sun don't shine.

"Morning, Tsukki," calls Yamaguchi out as his figure emerges from the horizon. These morning jogs before going to practice had been his idea. Kei wouldn't lay credit when he could be laying in bed.

"Good morning," answers Kei.

Yamaguchi runs at Kei's side and Kei notes that ... Yamaguchi seems to be getting taller.

Yamaguchi talks whilst he's running, because apparently he has no sense of when to save his breath, though this is something which Kei already knows. Thus Kei hears Yamaguchi asking, "What do you think today is going to be like?"

It's referring to either today's practice or that it's the last day of practice, since tomorrow is the first day of the winter holidays. Many other clubs have already turned in for the year, letting their members face rest. Unlike the volleyball club, they say: please enjoy your last break now that exams are all that's left to battle in the final semester following. 

For the volleyball club, today's practice is more a meeting with 'an ordinary practice' to be served on the side.

Kei is certain of this from Ukai Keishin's sense of timing.

Kei says as much. "We'll be choosing our next captain today."

"R- really?" Yamaguchi's voice comes out in the puffs cast by his breath against the rest of sky. "How do you know that?"

Kei would shrug if it could be noticed above his moving shoulders. Yamaguchi takes the silence for what it is and, for the love of conversation, continues capricious, "I wonder wh- who it's going to be."

With a 'knowing' blithely obvious in the stare of one Kageyama Tobio towards Yamaguchi Tadashi, there is no 'in the know' about their next captain's identity. Kei opts to save his breath.

... One day and then winter break.

"Are you going a- anywhere, for the holidays, Tsu-- Tsukki?" says Yamaguchi.

"No. I'm going to study."

A strangled noise from Yamaguchi's chest remarks, 'yes'. _Please do not remind him._

The school gate emerges. Beside Kei sounds a deathly groan.

"Tsu-- Tsukishima-senpai! Yamaguchi-senpai!"

Beneath the branches of a naked tree, the first-year Fujihara twins have also opted for a morning run. The one which spoke was Fujihara Yūsuke, green track-suit, the one with dreams of following Nishinoya as libero. Beside him follows broody grey tracksuit future-Setter Seiichi, the younger.

Seiichi holds one hand up from one side. "Yo."

Kei nods at them. "Hey."

Yamaguchi grins and says to both, "Hello!"

It doesn't take long, in the midst of Yūsuke's nervous head-darting, for Yamaguchi to feel responsible for Kei's height, the same way that it's Yamaguchi more than Kei's family who keep an eye out for stores which sell clothing in Kei's size. The conversation Yamaguchi starts is mundane and inane, has everything to do with the weather, and nothing to do Kei's inherent intimidation. And then the topic becomes very relevant once Seiichi joins in to comment on a cloud as it seems the weather is of genuine interest to that Fujihara family.

"We -- our parents, some of our relatives, we used to be fishermen," Yūsuke remarks.

"Really? Out east?" How Yamaguchi can sound so interested escapes Kei, not that Kei is considering yet escaping. "What made you move here ... to ..."

Yamaguchi's expression grows pensive upon recalling recent history. Awkwardly, he clears his throat.

"Oh," he finishes, end of response due.

Yūsuke stares at the floor, fidgeting, melancholy memory.

Seiichi looks over. 

Something must have passed through a link, wordless, a twinnish impulse. Seiichi is who answers on Yūsuke's behalf. "It's moronic for so many millions of people to live on a tiny island in the middle of a tsunami and earthquake zone."

"Well," says Yamaguchi, "People are stupid because they don't like to change, you know."

The look which Seiichi gives Yamaguchi reeks of an arrogance, a curled-back lip, scowling something. Kei wants to remark on it. Yet Yamaguchi continues walking as if not noticing, accepting it within a set of unchanging strides.

Yamaguchi walks by Kei's side and Kei notices that ... Yamaguchi is cool.

... Kei isn't awake yet. Not if the one thing he thinks about Yamaguchi Tadashi is that he's 'cool'.

Eventually, the side of the gymnasium reaches outwards, once they turn a corner. The building sticks out of the ground and into the ground as always, a familiar type of boring to its shape and walls, some bars over windows gleaming, a shoe closet facing the club rooms on either side of a line of taps. They're stuck with the second gymnasium again, and its door is open already, which means some others have already arrived. That does not mean Kei is late. There's no sound of volleyballs.

Kei notices Yamaguchi looking inside those doors as their little entourage walks past. Losing nothing, Kei copies the motion.

Yamaguchi's complexion overspills deep into the red.

"Good morning, Yamaguchi-kun!" Yachi Hitoka beams. Yamaguchi's reaction makes sense. What brilliance. It should not be possible for a person to literally blossom like their namesake. There are flowers unfurling in the sky and maybe the only rational explanation for this is that breakfast has been tampered with. Kei resists the urge to rub his eyes. 

"Tsukishima-kun, too!" adds Yachi, upon noticing him. "Aah -- and Fujihara-kun, and Sei!"

As she speaks, her hands move around at what feels like lightning speed. She has a cluster of thermoses and cups all placed on a little table and somehow manoeuvers around them without looking down. Like a Tower of Hanoi puzzle done blindfolded. An ethereal pause button is hit for the instant four servings are poured. Apparently nothing beyond her flowers are allowed to rain around her.

She offers some steaming cups to each of them, one at a time, and then they're standing there in the - admittedly warm - hall while still wearing their bags, carrying all this stuff on their backs, anything in hand dropped on the floor by their feet, all because they need all ten fingers in use ...

Kei's holding a cup of hot tea.

Are those doors the doors which are in fact pearly gates, guised artificially-mundane? Pretending to be something they're not, to keep out those with ill intentions, shunting those suited for eternal damnation instead of the domain where the eternally blossoming Yachi Hitoka smiles?

The steam blows on Kei's face and Kei stops being poetic to drink the stupid _(blessed)_ tea. Going down his throat, it's liquid gold. The warmth seeps through lining out of organs fills every little gap and twists the drainpipe leaking irritation. It wrings closed the saltwater spout and fogs up a jaded mirror into a thick opaque curtain.

Kei blinks and he's cleansed.

... Kei is awake now.

"Morning, everyone!" says Takeda, stepping into the gymnasium.

Everyone in the hall straightens instantly at the appearance of the teacher. Kei hears something inside one of the twins' backpacks jostling. Takeda hastily waves a hand before his authority dwells long enough to incite the five of them to bow.

"Good morning," says Kei. The others follow suit.

Takeda holds out a cup to Yachi, which is empty. Yachi smiles up at their supervisor. "Finished already?"

"It was wonderful." Takeda smiles as she takes it, placing it carefully in a crate by one of her feet. "You've done an amazing job organising this together. I'm sure everyone appreciates it more than words can say." That statement is punctuated with four nods. "I think this is something which definitely warrants some recommendation."

A glowing and flushing Yachi stammers with incoherence. Inwards her toes curl as she sinks into the ground. "T- t-- thank-you!"

Once Kei and the others give back their cups, head up to the club room to put their things away, they return to the sight of more zombies and irritatingly normal morning people mingling inside the hall. Kei is sure that practice should have started by now. Even Ukai has arrived, though their coach is frowning down at his own cup of tea. Disturbingly, appearing on the edge of tears. 

Kei thinks little of it. The last day of semester is apparently an excuse for everyone to welcome in foolishness and insanity.

Kei finds Yamaguchi talking with Yūsuke. He makes his way closer and, whatever it is, they're enjoying themselves. Despite Yūsuke's pale complexion he must be the liveliest person alive if he's wearing a grin of that size.

... Morning person.

"The second-year school trip has been an excursion to Tōkyō for as long as anyone remembers," says Yamaguchi.

"Awesome!" gushes Yūsuke. "We went to Kyōto for our trip in middle school."

"Really?" Yamaguchi lights up. "Did you see the maple trees?"

Morning person number two shows up with an expression dour. Kageyama Tobio, typically a running eye-sore, now dropped off at the gate every day. He's brought down by his crutches. That lackluster entrance is followed by Nishinoya and Kinoshita deep in a whispered conference, Kinoshita's ears tinted pink, Nishinoya's voice loud enough to carry a dismissive "Please", and "Clearly married". It becomes apparent that Kinoshita's spotted a pretty lady with glossy black hair. Nishinoya brushes him off. "Didn't think you were that kinda guy bro ..."

Kei starts his stretches.

Morning person number three is conspicuously missing.

... Then Hinata Shōyō walks into the hall, his very presence like a burst. He doesn't have his bags, so he's already stopped by the club room, and Kei must have just missed him. That entry is heralded by a blaze of greetings.

"Morning, Hinata."

"Hinata, hey."

"Yo!"

_"Yo!"_

Hinata replies to them all with a wave, and his gait adds a small leap for each one. Kei eyes them, those movements of his. Whatever he's doing in his side-time, it's taking an obvious effect on his physique. The shirt catches as it moves and there's the definition expected of a wing spiker splattered across his chest. His shoulders carry as much breadth as his lungs must be full of buoyant wind.

Kei doesn't pay attention to it.

"Meeting time!" Ukai's voice reverberates through the hall.

Around their coach, everyone falls into a formation circle.

"Right," Ukai begins. "Everyone, thank Yachi for the tea if you haven't already. Now you're warm and looking forward to the holidays, we're gonna get some admin out of the way."

Kei notices Hinata beginning to fidget, on the other side, a buzzing in his muscles preventing him from being still.

"In the holidays, we'll have practice on Saturdays. Same time. Keep doing ... weights, or whatever self-training if you have to. But don't over-do it. You're no good if you're injured. The responsibility for all of you these holidays is to recover. Kageyama, you got a date for getting back on two legs yet?"

"Holidays," says Kageyama. He and his crutches hover at an outer edge. Continuing, in a low voice like a promise, he repeats, "They will be gone after the holidays."

Ukai nods. "Good. Be sure to keep at what the doctor says. For the other second-years, we'll officially be nominating the new captain when next semester starts. Decide amongst yourselves."

Kei notices Yamaguchi's gaze flickering to him on that announcement. With it is a slight confusion between his brows. He has no idea the most popular choice is him. 

A small fuss makes itself known by one of the doors. Yachi emerges.

"I- I have the basketballs!" she calls inside. 

Ukai grins.

"Okay," he says, "go warm up, then we're getting into pairs!"

Kei discovers why they need basketballs today.

The exercise is a simple one, in theory. Rather than using volleyballs to practice serving, they would instead use the basketball. In reality, handling the basketball in a way it is not meant to be handled is about as fitting as using a butcher's knife to fillet fatty tuna. Any apparent point to the exercise hides itself beneath the generally obvious fact that the elasticity in the ball is all wrong. Its streamlining is completely off. The weight is unexpected, foreign; unfamiliar service faults when muscle memory expects it to succeed.

Kei stares at his partner, who is one of the many people going after a ball which has rolled away.

Kei has ended up in a group with Hinata Shōyō.

"Don't complain," Ukai's voice carries, from near some of the first-years. "This is to show you your strength. Let the weight in your conscience become the weight of the ball! Before the holidays, benchmark yourselves!"

All the relative strengths are evident. Tanaka leads the third-years in successful serves. Of the second-years, it's Yamaguchi who's started strongest, for all the practice he puts into fulfilling his pinch server responsibilities. Fronting the first-years is surprisingly the Fujihara twin that wants to be a libero. Seiichi isn't far behind. Whenever the twins pair up, some charismatic factor propels both of them further.

Hinata returns.

"Mine," says Kei.

Hinata nods and hands the basketball over.

Kei lets it fall against his fingertips and walks back to an end line. He serves again.

All-throughout the exercise, Kei notices Kageyama watching their efforts, Yamaguchi's occasional sideways glances. Once, their basketball rolls to the wall where Kageyama is sitting. Kei follows it. Looking away, Kageyama pretends obviously that he hasn't been watching. Somehow this avoidance pisses Kei off more than if Kageyama would have continued staring.

"Tch," scoffs Kei.

The movement of Kageyama's head is a buoy surfacing above turbulent water. Kageyama looks at Kei and it's like a drill-head, caterwauling and shrill. Like a scream which reverberates. Like the neighbour which plays loud music at night during hours of study or hours of sleep, and as if wanting to top off the package of irritation delivered to his door, the music is shit taste.

Kei's mouth moves before he can fully-consider. "You don't have to be here," he says.

Kageyama blinks. An arm tightens around the crutches beside. Every instruction Kageyama has been given has been done correctly with regards for proper healing. Kei knows this from Yamaguchi, who knows from this girl in Kageyama's class, who is the sister or niece or some vaguely similar-sounding relative of someone's family friend.

"I care," says Kageyama; immeasurable fact: startlingly self-clear.

Kei didn't expect Kageyama to answer him.

"Tch."

Kei stalks back. Passes Hinata. He keeps walking. Dumbass Hinata. So annoying --

The thoughts are captured with a precision belonging to one aware of themselves and aware of the going-ons around them. Kei pauses. Examining them closely, there's nothing else attached.

Kei frowns and lets them fall away.

It happens again during their practice match. Middle blocker Kei watches the ball as it falls on their side. In his peripheral vision, the other team starts to move. Yamaguchi has started combining read blocking with tracking feints. The full force of Yamaguchi's gaze reveals why sometimes people shirk from Kei's gaze; it has all the intensity of needles. Kei calculates.

The ball will go to Hinata.

Yamaguchi will jump ...

The ball goes to Hinata and Yamaguchi smacks it down. 

... There.

Kei judged the situation correctly. He's already in the right position to dive and save the ball.

_"Chance ball!"_

Hinata steps on Kei's hand in his landing.

"Dumbass," Kei breathes. He gets back on his feet just as they get the ball over the net. He watches the other side moving into position, shouts of _"Chance ball!"_ echoing in the eaves. Sweat runs down his scalp. His breath is warm and heavy and his normal glasses would have long misted up were he still wearing them. Kei shakes the numbness from his fingers as he senses Hinata resetting. The rally reaches two hits on the other side - they have to send it back over now. Kei has to be ready. 

Kei calculates.

Yamaguchi jumps.

For some reason, Kei doesn't make it. Kei is lined up. Yamaguchi's attacks are easy to read. The timing worked itself out in Kei's head. Everything says that it should have been stopped.

Kei is there.

The ball slams into the ground behind Kei's head and the other team makes the score.

Kei isn't there.

Hesitating, Yamaguchi glances at Kei, even as all the others on his side move into their next rotations. Yamaguchi chews his lip, makes to glance towards the side where Ukai is. Kei shakes his head, saying to stay silent. Don't bring the coach into this. Kei won't accept pauses to the flow of the game.

A windowsill has a crow on the ledge.

... Yamaguchi finds Kei once training ends.

"Tsukk --"

"Yamaguchi."

There's a long silence. Around them, the others yell goodbyes. Just a few more hours of class until freedom. Have a good holidays. See you after break. There's a breeze which cuts above heads, tousling hair.

Recovering from surprise, interpreting correctly that Kei's interruption was pre-emptive rather than one where he had something to say, Yamaguchi awkwardly clears his throat. "Is there something on your mind?"

Kei's eyes scan for ears which are listening. "Do you sometimes ... have thoughts that don't belong to you?"

Yamaguchi's jaw falls slack. It's not disbelieving so Kei doesn't care about it.

He's considering ... something.

"I think everyone has their bad days?" Yamaguchi offers.

The words leave his lips and he stiffens. They're not the words Kei wants to hear.

Yamaguchi knows this.

"Tsuk --"

"It's nothing," says Kei. The third time he's cut his friend off that morning. He brushes it off. The gnawing of disappointment is something he's gotten used to, useless to dwell upon. "You've gotten very confident lately. It's a good look."

A frown through the flush across Yamaguchi's nose says he doesn't approve of the topic being changed. "Tsu --"

"You play very differently now, compared to middle school," continues Kei. "I look forward to your continued good work next year, Captain."

"Stop that, we haven't even voted," Yamaguchi tries, only for his protests to be ignored. His face has reddened to the point where that Kei can use it as a lantern. "But OK." _I'll bring it up again._ "Speaking of next year, are you free next week?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Let's go visit a temple together for New Year's. To pray for luck."

"So long as it doesn't involve watching the NHK again."

" _Tsukki,_ what _do_ you have against the hosts?" Kei doesn't stop the small smile when it emerges, and Yamaguchi groans. "You never change, do you?"

"No, just you." Wryness enters Kei's voice, first a trickle and then a rising tide. Perhaps it's Yamaguchi's oddly philosophical remarks earlier which have gotten Kei thinking about this. Kei isn't one for change, unless there's a reason or there's something to gain. "I don't need to."

"Famous last words."

Kei hides a laugh with a small cough as they part for their respective classrooms. "Weren't you meant to be the nice one?"

The air moves around. Kei shakes off the feeling he's the centre of some corona.

 

 

 

 

When Suga asked if Daichi wouldn't mind helping him Christmas shopping, Daichi, who has never gone shopping for presents with Suga before, did not think that he and Suga would be inside a toy store debating the merits of giving his little cousin a robot figurine or a ninja.

"Daichi, the ninja says it's from a popular show," Suga reasons.

Daichi shakes his head vehemently, confident in the soundness of his own logic, "Of the presents I got when I was nine, the best way to go is with robots. Do you know if he likes that show? Suga, you're best off asking his mother if he likes it."

"And she'll ask him," says Suga, repeating an argument which was made mere minutes earlier, "so he'll already have an idea of what I'm giving."

"Because you like giving everyone surprises," Daichi surmises.

"That's quite right."

As Suga glances between his options as if he were watching a long rally, Daichi marvelled. For someone so regularly a peace-maker to be indecisive about a simple present is an obvious reminder that, sometimes, Sugawara Kōshi spends a lot of time thinking.

Daichi points to a random cyborg swordsman action figure with six swords further down the shelf. "Get this one then."

"Oh," says Suga. His face stretches into a smile. "Yes, quite really. That's perfect."

They end up at the check-out. Suga hands over his basket. At nineteen, Suga proceeds to buy a children's action figure with more dignity than a sixteen-year-old Daichi could ever accomplish. As they leave the store, Daichi glances at the shape of the box, sticking out in angles from inside its bag. Something spurns him to read it ... so the swordsman's chest lights up with batteries ...

Daichi reminds himself that he's left his action figure phase behind now.

The movement of Suga walking out of the store has Daichi hurrying to catch up to him. Suga fiddles with something, saying, "Next, Mimi wants --" 

Daichi doesn't expect Suga to stop. Neither does Suga, after Daichi walks into him. Yet Suga doesn't react, his entire body still to the point of unusual.

In a small voice, Suga says, "Daichi?"

"Huh?"

Without moving, Suga's head swivels around at an impossible angle, and Daichi wonders if he imagines the sound of spine-cracking. "Do you ... know anything about lip-gloss?"

"Wha --?"

Suga shows Daichi the next page of the notebook being used as their reference and sure enough, it reads _lip-gloss_ beside _For Mimizu-chan_. 

The handwriting is very obviously feminine and so Daichi asks, "Did Chii-san write this?"

"Yes," says Suga, in a morose monotone. "Isn't ... isn't it a bit _early_ to be giving Mimi lip-gloss? She's _eight_."

No-female-relatives-in-his-generation Daichi offers, "I'm sure Chii-san knows what she's doing."

The slumping of Suga's shoulders punctuate his, "I guess so," and Suga begins walking determinedly once more.

"They grow up so fast." Suga sighs.

Daichi, who sees a flash of orange in the shopping district as they take the next turn, thinks that despite the height being a child's, it's reminiscent of Hinata Shōyō. He says, "They do."

They pass a bakery with a display which makes Daichi grow hungry and they continue their walking.

"How did the build go?" asks Suga, not pausing his long strides.

"It was alright."

"That work's over now?"

"Finished last week."

Suga's pace slows. "I'll ask if we need an extra set of hands at the restaurant over the holiday period then."

Daichi swallows down the sudden dryness in his throat and tries to find a response. "I appreciate it." Then a chance to change the subject from his lack of job arises. Daichi sees a pastel shop-front full of beauty goods and taps against Suga's shoulder. "Let's go there. The staff can recommend something for Mimizu."

It's an idea Suga agrees to. It isn't long until the two of them are inside, Suga speaking with one of the staff members, and Daichi scanning idly the products being sold on white and pink walls. There are bottles after bottles of cleansing solution and such a variety of eyeshadow shades their canisters occupy two rows on the entire length of a shelf. Daichi wanders further into the corner to see a collection of face cleansing masks themed after animal designs. 

Curious, Daichi peers closer at the packaging. Foil packaging squishes with a faint oozing-like sensation as he takes some into his hands. The only pictures are cute drawings. A deer, a cat, an owl ...

By the time the two of them regroup outside the store, Suga somehow places the pink bag into one of his other bags with absolute calm. Daichi, glancing around to see if anyone he knows managed to witness him leaving such a place, stiffens into a plank-board when a hand lands on his shoulder.

"Erp," Daichi croaks. 

It's Suga with his brows drawn together.

"Are you not feeling quite too well?" Suga asks. "There weren't any need for you to come along today, if it's illness again --"

"It's not," Daichi interrupts.

Suga's hand rises and then drops by his side, and he says, "Then, why've you been so off-colour?"

With a swallow, Daichi gathers his courage, prepares himself for disappointment, and says as truthfully as he can, "The Fukurodani Group won't be inviting Karasuno to their summer training camps next year."

"... That _is_ quite bad," Suga agrees.

Daichi nods. There's no need to say it's a result of Karasuno's lackluster performance in this current year. Furthermore, most is the drive behind the schools' friendly rivalry had already been cut once Daichi's year group graduated. It's difficult to imagine any of the remaining members aside from Lev pushing their coaches for Karasuno to make their return. There will always be limits as to what Daichi and the other alumni can accomplish for their beloved high-school team. So Daichi allows the sadness to stew, surely, until such a moment when he's content enough to move on. 

As if sensing his resolve, Suga opens his notebook for their next destination. He says, "Time to focus," with a nod which is more like an attempt to remind himself. "First, we'll try arranging more local practice matches, and then a treasury alongside the gymnasium expansion."

"But presents first," Daichi reminds Suga, nodding. "Where do we go next?" 

Suga puts his notebook away. "The electronics store."

The electronics shop isn't far from their current location, neither does it require trekking back along walkways they've already taken. This path consideration is one of several qualities which Daichi values in his close friend - not quite a foresight, more an innate understanding of what's required next. 

When they reach the store, a young girl is aweing at the TVs in its shop front display. She comes up to Daichi's waist and her hair is a very familiar shade of blazing red.

Daichi pauses and realises that she must have been who he'd seen a little earlier. 

... And then, when Hinata Shōyō appears to scoop her up, Daichi realises the resemblance is due to how the two are in fact _very_ related. 

Hinata doesn't seem to have noticed the two graduates doing their gift-shopping, as he hefts the girl up onto his shoulders and says flatly, "Natsu, if you don't stop running away, I won't take you to that studio tour we got invited."

The girl called Natsu stops stubbornly pulling at Hinata's hair and folds her arms atop of it instead. "Fiiiiiine," she says, making the greatest and most disappointed pout which Daichi has ever seen.

As Daichi wonders if it's appropriate to interrupt, Suga has noticed them.

Suga greets, "Hinata!"

Hinata blinks. He sees Suga and Daichi and his face blooms into excitement. "Hey!"

Hinata closes the distance with a light jog and Natsu pulls his hair and squeals.

Compared to a Daichi that has three male cousins, the two-thirds-of-the-relatives-in-his-generation-being-female Suga is quick to engage Natsu in his and Hinata's conversation. Suga takes an interest in Hinata Natsu, and is very quick to ask embarrassing questions about her older brother which she is only too happy to give answers for.

There's something different about Hinata, Daichi notes. As with the difference around Oikawa he'd noticed before, he can't find a name for it, there's no description which hits the bullseye on a target board.

Daichi's attention is drawn back once Suga's head begins whirling around, in a manner distinctly meaning he's being pulled in, Suga finishing, "-- wouldn't you say?"

Daichi blinks. "Huh?" 

Natsu giggles at Daichi's reaction with the backhanded bluntness of an innocent little angel.

Suga doesn't say anything, naturally rephrasing, "Are white bows better or pink?"

"Pink!" Natsu enthuses, tugging harder, while Hinata tries to bat her hands off his hair.

Daichi is saved from having to give his opinion when there's the sound of something ringing. Simultaneously both Hinata and his sister pat themselves down, until Natsu pulls out a battered yellow flip phone. She sticks her tongue out at her brother, saying, "It's _my_ phone, now," then lifts the lid before pressing the button to answer the call.

"Kā-chan! ... We're in front of the electronics store. Yea, Nī-chan's here! He's really slow --"

Hinata tilts his head back to gaze at her. "Does she want us to meet her somewhere?"

"Sh'uld we meet you?" Natsu parrots. "Ok, I won't, okkkkk ... fruit shop? A-- _AAAHHHHHH --!_ "

She shrieks. With strength in shoulders which Daichi would have sworn were not so broad before, Hinata has adjusted how Natsu is sitting. Hopefully their mother didn't have the volume set so loudly on the other end.

The two of them wave goodbye before they depart.

Daichi blinks and wonders if he'd imagined the sight of a charm hanging off Hinata's wrist, a bit like a small glass bottle ...

Daichi looks to Suga, and then to the entryway of the electronics store.

"Hinata," says Daichi, at the same time as Suga says, "Something's strange."

The two of them look at each other once more. They blink for a second. Then, both gesture to the other that they should continue, and eventually they settle on Suga going first, so he does so.

"I'm ... unsure," says Suga, uncertainty clinging the corners of his mouth into a frown, "There's a feeling."

Daichi agrees. "Yeah. Me too." He still can't pinpoint what it is exactly. But agreement from Suga is enough reassurance that this time, at least, it can't entirely be his imagination. There are things which are the same, and there are things that ... 

There's a movement by Suga's side. "He's gotten bigger." Suga's fingers shift as if they were the ones who had spoken, not the words coming out of Suga's mouth instead. Suga continues, "He'll be in his third year quite soon, with all the frustration from this year, and ..." Suga hesitates. "He's not the patient type."

And with that, the feeling of 'difference' transforms itself into a certain sort of 'looming'.

Then Suga says, "Let's go back. Maybe we should have gotten the robot figure after all."

"No," says Daichi, hastily putting a hand onto his friend's shoulder, "Don't double-guess yourself, Suga. Stick with what you chose. The swordsman is fine."

 

 

 

 

  |  | WHAT DID IT EIGHT! #57  
AIR DATE: 2012/12/21 21:00  
  
Pg. 11  
FILMING SCHEDULED 2012/12/18 15:20  
FLOOR MANAGEMENT: HASEGAWA RUMIKA  
  
TOPIC 6  
THEORY OF 2012 END OF THE WORLD  
  
CONT. FROM PREVIOUS   
    
    
---|---|---  
[CAMERA 1] |  | MARK: Really?  
|  | Then what's next?  
   
|  | ASAMI:   
Next is a topic for all the occultists!  
[CUE]  
  |  | This is from an ancient American civilisation, the Maya civilisation.  
   
|  | [ALL GASP]  
   
|  | ASAMI: They used an ancient calendar system and today is the day their calendar ends.   
[CUE]  
  |  | The story goes that today will be the end of the world!  
   
|  | [ALL SHOCKED]  
   
|  | MARK: I don't believe it.  
|  | I haven't even seen my first New Year in Japan.  
   
|  | ASAMI: Not to worry, Mark-san.  
|  | Be at ease. There is someone here who may explain what it means.  
   
[CUE]  
  |  | Our own resident occultist, Oikawa-san!  
   
[CAMERA 2]  
  |  | KIKKE: Oikawa-kun!?  
   
[CAMERA 3]  
  |  | OIKAWA: [RESPOND: 3 SECONDS]  
   
[CAMERA 1: WIDE, OIKAWA IN FRAME] |  |   
[CUE]  
  |  | ASAMI:   
Oikawa-san, you have been a fan of the occult since you were very young.   
   
|  | [ALL SURPRISED]  
   
|  | OIKAWA: Yes. It is true.   
|  | How embarrassing.   
   
|  | MARK: You have fans.   
|  | That type of hobby, did that not make people scared?  
   
|  | OIKAWA: No.   
[CUE]  
  |  | How can it scare if no one does know?  
   
|  | [ALL LAUGH]  
    
[CAMERA 2] |  | KIKKE: Like the nefarious cicada bomb.   
|  | It is lying on the road in plain view. Then - KA-BAAMM! - it explodes on you. Even when they don't explode they are terrifying when you see one.   
   
|  | MARK:   
I know what you refer to. I saw one in summer. It was the first thing I remember after leaving the airport. Scary.   
|  | I thought it would be the end of the world.  
   
[CAMERA 1] |  |   
[CUE]  
  |  | ASAMI: Oikawa-san, is it the end of the world?  
   
[CAMERA 3: ON OIKAWA] |  | OIKAWA: [LOOKING AT CAMERA 3]   
|  | Maybe.  
   
[ALL CAMERA ON PANEL EACH]  
  |  | [ALL REACT: 4 SECONDS]  
   
|  | OIKAWA: [RESPOND: 6 SECONDS]  
|  | [LOOK OFF CAMERA 3]  
   
|  | OIKAWA:   
Regarding the end of the world ... Possibly not.   
|  | The calendar system the Mayans used counted in many cycles.   
|  | Think of the life of a plant. For a seed to bloom it has to die and be buried, then it may grow.   
[CUE]  
  |  | To the Maya, these births, deaths and rebirths -- together, they are a cycle all involved with the essence of life.  
   
[CAMERA 2: OIKAWA & KIKKE]  
  |  | KIKKE: So if I did not water my flowers, they grew brown, then, they will grow again next season?  
   
|  | OIKAWA:   
Kikke-tama, I do not think there is anyone that is able to argue with you ...   
|  | Both when you are right and when you are wrong.  
   
[CAMERA 4] |  | MARK:   
|  | I may not be Japanese, but even I can see our charming Oikawa-kun has a bit of a wit about him, as sharp as his looks are fine.  
   
[CAMERA 1] |  |   
[CUE]  
  |  | ASAMI: Well, that is very sharp, then.  
   
|  | [ALL LAUGH]  
   
|  | ASAMI:   
Oikawa-san, you say seeds. Is this why there are some seeds in the items which we have shown on this screen? Please guide us with an explanation.  
   
[CAMERA 2] |  | OIKAWA: Of course.   
|  | The seeds, aside from life, also represent humans. Seeds are called small bones or skulls in the language.   
[CUE]  
  |  | From bones comes the human life of the next generations.  
   
|  | [ALL REACT: 2 SECONDS]  
   
|  | OIKAWA:   
|  | Next, on the screen, this net. Nets are a symbol for the universe's divine order. The regular pattern of the netting represents the pattern of the seasons.   
|  | But do not confuse it with crossroads.   
[CUE]  
  |  | In the fabric of this universe, crossroads are a dangerous thing.  
   
[CAMERA 4]  
  |  | MARK: Crossroads?  
   
[CAMERA 2] |  | OIKAWA:   
|  | The Maya believe everything is influenced by spiritual forces -- what you do, what you eat.   
[CUE]  
  |  | Crossroads are focal points for all these unseen energies.  
   
|  | [ALL REACT: 3 SECONDS]   
|  | OIKAWA:   
This sculpture is last.   
|  | Actually, I have it here.  
   
[CAMERA 1: OIKAWA IN FRAME] |  | ASAMI: It's yours!   
|  | What is it?   
   
|  | OIKAWA:   
See how there are seven people, hands on each other's backs? They call it a 'Circle of Friends'.   
|  | This one is a small replica.   
|  | It's a candle holder, just as the people of ancient times would sit around a fire.   
|  | A type of friendship never to be broken.  
   
[CAMERA 3]  
  |  | KIKKE: Then I welcome the end of the world together with all my girlfriends!  
   
[CAMERA 2] |  | OIKAWA: Do not be afraid!   
|  | There is the most likely possibility that what is to come is just a new type of 'era'.  
   
[CAMERA 4]  
  |  | MARK: Avoid crossroads.   
   
[CAMERA 2]  
  |  | OIKAWA: Avoid crossroads!   
   
[CAMERA 1: ALL IN FRAME] |  | ALL:   
|  | Happy New Year!  
   
  
 

 

"Okay, good work, everyone! Please rest for five minutes while the layout is being changed."

Tōru stretches his arms as he hops off the set, working out the kinks in his shoulders. He hides a yawn with a tilt of his head. It's pretty effective, considering how tall he is - the only one closest to his height is the 'half-foreigner growing up overseas and recently returning to Japan'-archetype Mark, and he's already hustled away.

After stepping aside to let TV personality Kikke past, Tōru heads for the table where they keep the water.

"Aren't you glowing lately?"

Tōru stops at the question. It doesn't affect his smile as he starts turning around. 

"It's a great day," he says. "The publishers liked the profiles we sent out. It's been positive feedback all-round."

The professional photographer called in by the studio for some promotional shots, a _Zen'ya_ -something-or-other, picks up the camera around her neck. There's a DSLR whirr and a snapping of shutters, then she glances between the screen and where Tōru's still standing.

"Insanely photogenic," she praises.

"Geez," sighs Tōru. "Mila-san, at least let me know there's nothing on my face before you do something like that."

"Like that's something you need to worry? It's as handsome as ever."

Tōru waves her off and goes to re-hydrate his supposedly handsome dehydrated skin.

His main guest is waiting next to a stack of chairs.

"It's just you two?" asks Tōru, having spotted them while filming.

"Yeah," says Shōyō. "Grandpa wanted to re-plant some of his tea trees this morning so Kā-chan went over to help him."

Tōru nods and notices Shōyō's little sister wandering next to a certain woman with fine eyebrows and curly hair. The woman leans down and the girl talks to her. Then she points at Shōyō, before the two of them walk over together.

Tōru greets her. "Rumika-san. This is Hinata Shōyō. I told you about him." He turns to Shōyō. "Shō-chan, this is the wonderful lady that makes sure everything looks good on screen. The floor supervisor, Hasegawa Rumika."

"It's nice to meet you, Hasegawa-san," says Shōyō, with a bow.

"Likewise." She returns a smile which smooths out the angles on an unconventionally-shaped nose and face. "I hope you're enjoying the experience in this building, Hinata-kun."

Shōyō collects a little sister that looks like she wants to wander and introduces her as Hinata Natsu.

The floor supervisor gives Tōru a pointed glance and excuses herself from the group. Then she's all business again and makes her loud announcement: "Hurry up! There is not unlimited break time. We film the next segment in one minute. Get moving!"

Tōru kneels.

"My apologies, fair maiden," he says to Natsu, resting a hand upon his chest. "This is where I must bid you and your knight adieu."

Natsu shifts sideways closer towards her brother and giggles.

"Tōru-san," says Shōyō. An adorable element exists in his frown. "Don't do that. Stop flirting with my sister."

Tōru looks back to Natsu. "Princess, your knight is spreading blatant lies."

"Get a move on, Oikawa!" The floor supervisor yells.

Tōru grins and stands. While patting Shōyō's head, he enjoys how the frown twitches before melting into acceptance. Too cute. Tōru's very proud of how much his little Shō-chan has grown into everything.

He takes advantage of this briefly good mood.

"Saki-nē wants to invite you over for dinner again," says Tōru, seemingly cheery.

Shōyō nods with wide eyes. Tōru remembers those same eyes. He's listening to Tōru, very carefully. It's like Tōru's words are a block on the other side of a net, and he's asking his little Shō-chan to find the way to smash through and score.

Tōru smiles his most dazzling smile and feels his heart buoyed by the light he sees in Shōyō's eyes in return.

_"Oikawa!"_

Tōru flicks his right arm up in a salute-turned-wave.

He returns to his seat at the podium table.

It's after filming concludes, and the other panellists have long gone home, when Tōru stretches and yawns after closing the front of his locker door. He wanders out of the hallway, nodding to those still left in the building.

He reaches the vending machine. His head stares at all the available options, while his eyes are seeing the vision of Hinata Shōyō watching him as they finish filming for that day. Behind the glass is tea, juice, soft drink, coffee ... 

Tōru runs his finger along the buttons, then punches in the selection for beer.

Technically, he's underage. But nobody's looking. And even if they were, there's no one to ID him. 

Nobody cares.

He wraps his scarf around his neck, shoulders his coat, and joins the chorus of voices thanking him for the work he's done today. The bus stop is about a block away from the studio and he makes the walk in silence, surrounded by concrete buildings and people on their way home and exhaust fumes off the street. He waits in line for his ride to arrive. The can is cracked open with a seal being snapped and a sting.

Tōru looks at his finger, where it's started bleeding.

To the Maya, the most precious substance in the world is blood. It carries the spirits of the ancestors and the gods from which they are thus descended. That is why they are known for their ritual sacrifice.

The cut is licked.

Tōru lifts the can to his lips and drinks.

He remembers something, once the bus has arrived. Something else other than the changing of the cycles; aside from the motions in the universe which say the old era is leaving so the new may be born. He throws away the can, boards the vehicle, and then searches for his phone as he hooks a gloved hand around one of the supports.

Through the pleasant haze in his mind and the faint chill fogging the windows, Tōru sends a message.

 

 

 

 

 

 

#### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> Good luck for your exams, Iwa-chan!!
> 
> Come back, and we'll go for New Year's mochi☆

one week ago

##### Iwaizumi Hajime

> Shittykawa, that's way too late in January.

yesterday _(read)_

##### Iwaizumi Hajime

> Happy Christmas.

yesterday _(read)_

##### OIKAWA☆TOHRU

> It's never too late, if it's Iwa-chan.
> 
> You always take forever to reply. I bet you won't see this until five days.
> 
> [Sticker: A cartoon character posing in a victory sign 'V']
> 
> Happy new year!

8:24

##### Iwaizumi Hajime

> your personality is crap on TV

12:00

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∟ chp 21 : (Tsukishima, ????) _"He looks like the Little Giant."_ ... The moon is celestial, too. 「瘋癲」

**Author's Note:**

> ※ Next chp status updates (and sometimes excerpts / explanations / meta) on [tumblr](http://milksalt.tumblr.com/)


End file.
